


As You Wish

by bibliosoph



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Alternate Universe - Princess Bride Fusion, M/M, Magic, Miracles, Princess Bride AU, Revenge, Swordfighting, True Love, alex is westley, henry is buttercup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 33,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23975143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliosoph/pseuds/bibliosoph
Summary: Long ago in the land of Florin, a young man was born and raised on a small farm. After the death of his father, he sought help to maintain the land, hiring the aid of a farm boy about his age. The two fell in love but the farm boy died as he sought fortune across the sea. Empty and heartbroken, the man put up no fight when the Queen Mary came to him and requested he marry her daughter, for he was the most handsome man in the land now that his love was dead.But what if Alex was never actually slaughtered by The Dread Pirate Roberts? What if, somehow, he managed to live to tell the tale?Full of sword fights, revenge, magic, true love, and miracles, I present The RWRB Princess Bride AU.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 116
Kudos: 95





	1. One

Henry was raised on a small farm in Florin, tucked away from the rest of the world with no one but his family to keep him company for a good portion of his life. When his father died before Henry had reached eighteen summers, his family quickly disappeared––his mother traveled North and his sister West in search of new and better lives. Henry refused to leave the farm for he felt it was his life’s mission to stay and look after his father’s land. Once his family had left him, he hired a boy from a nearby village to assist him in the extensive upkeep and chores he had to complete to maintain the land. The boy, about his age, was kind and did as Henry asked with little to no resistance in the beginning, for Henry paid him handsomely. After four summers alone together on the land, Henry grew to see the boy turn into a bright, feisty young man. Though their interactions were normally quite brief, there were a few instances where the two men spoke about their lives and their dreams in life. So, with each passing year, Henry found himself falling in love with the young man, drawn to the way he carried himself so freely and the way his eyes sparkled when Henry challenged him with something new.

During the fifth spring when Henry was almost aged twenty-three summers and the boy nearly twenty-two, Henry noticed something different about him. In the past, the farm boy asked questions about the tasks given to him and sometimes even dared to challenge Henry’s requests. That all changed, though, for the boy started saying three words and three words alone: “As you wish.”

It infuriated Henry to no end. His requests started growing more and more impractical, just to see that fire in the boy again. But each time he requested something, it was always the same––as you wish. Hellbent on bringing the boy he loved back from wherever he had gone, Henry knew that he had to make his request even more tedious and nonsensical. It all came to fruition one rainy afternoon.

Henry was in the kitchen––a small and separate room from the rest of the house for the flames from the cooking fire were known to be unpredictable––when the farm boy walked inside to inform Henry that he had completed his previous task. He never said anything––he simply sought Henry out and stood there with his lips pursed into a fine line whilst he waited for new orders. Henry, chopping vegetables and seriously considering chopping his own hand off just to get a reaction from the boy, turned to him and looked frantically around the room for some ridiculous request.

“Hand me that bucket of water?”

“As you wish,” the boy said, moving to the corner where the bucket rested. He walked it over to Henry and set it down on the table. Henry was at a loss of what to say, seemingly out of moronic chores for the boy to do. Sensing this, the boy started to leave the space to return to his normal duties––probably to feed the chickens. Henry’s breath caught in his throat, horrified at the thought of the boy leaving without so much as a quip or biting response as Henry had grown so accustomed to.

Henry looked up at the pots, pitchers, and pans hanging from the wooden contraption above him, figuring that he had just found the perfect request to break the boy’s calm nerves and vacant stares. Surely such an idiotic request would ignite that fire again.

“Farmboy,” he called as the boy reached the doorway. He paused and turned to face Henry, his eyes looking tired and forlorn. Seeing this as a sign that he was close to breaking point, Henry tried to fight back a smile. “Fetch me that pitcher?” he asked, pointing to the pitched not even half a meter away from his head.

The boy took in a deep breath and moved across the space at a languid pace, each step looking like sheer torture for him. It surprised Henry to see the boy so against being near him that it almost made him revoke his command, just to keep him happy. But the boy did as he was asked and, standing on tip-toe, fetched the pitcher that Henry could have easily retrieved himself with little hassle. Henry was held captive in his movements, watching as his arm flexed as it grabbed the handle and brought it back down, severing the space between the two of them with its presence. Henry looked down at the pitcher and then to the boy whose eyes were now bright but terrified and wide.

“As you wish,” he whispered, holding the pitcher out for Henry to take. Though Henry did not consider himself to be particularly observant, even he could not miss the way the boy’s eyes looked to his parted lips.

It was in this moment that Henry realized that all of those times the boy said “as you wish,” what he really meant was “I love you.” The realization surprised Henry for he never would have dreamed for his feelings to be returned. How many sleepless nights had he spent thinking of how to tell the boy how he felt? How many long, cold nights could have been improved by the company of this boy in his bed there to keep him warm? Henry had been a fool, it seemed, for it had been months now of the boy professing his love in such a manner. Well, it would be no more.

So he surged forward, capturing the boy’s lips with his own. At first, the boy did not move. Henry was terribly frightful that he had somehow miscalculated everything and that the boy was simply fed up with him, not in love with him. But then, after a moment where Henry nearly vowed to himself to move far away in light of his grievous mistake, the boy had the audacity to kiss him back. It was a feeling that Henry could not have begun to describe, even if he could write a thousand ballads or a thousand poems or paint a thousand paintings. His mind was utterly consumed with thoughts of the farm boy’s lips and the way they met his own so eagerly yet also so tenderly, in the way the farm boy’s hair felt as Henry ran his fingers through it, in the way that––

The pitcher shattered into sharp fragments on the ground.

The boy pulled away from instantly and gasped, clearly horrified that he’d done something wrong.

Henry stepped over the shards and pushed the boy with him, taking them both away from the mess. The boy shook his head in disbelief of his actions, but Henry would hear none of it.

“Don’t fret,” Henry told him, holding the boy’s jaw in his hand to steady his head. “I can clean it up later.”

The boy’s breathing slowed and he looked into Henry’s eyes and Henry could see that fire there again––the fire that made him feel alive again. “As you wish.”

Henry grinned and connected their lips together once more, so pleased to hear those words. Only minutes ago, he thought hearing those words again would have broken him completely––shattered him into jagged fragments like the pitcher. But now the words brought him delight that he could not have dreamed of for it meant that the farm boy loved him, too.

It was a happy, blissful time for the two of them. Being on a secluded farm and away from prying eyes helped their love blossom and grow until the heat of the unforgiving summer came upon the land. Their time together was sacred like a precious whisper or a prayer. Henry joined the farm boy in completing the chores, they cooked together, they rode together with the boy’s arms steadfast around Henry’s narrow waist. At night, they rarely parted. When it was cold and rainy, they curled up underneath the scratchy blankets to keep each other warm and safe when the winds threatened to blow them apart. When it grew warm, so warm that the boy nearly always had a bead of sweat upon his brow, they slept without the blankets but still tangled up in each other––their sweat-slicked bodies adhering to each other through the night as they refused to let go, even for a moment. In the quiet, peaceful isolation of the farm, they were free to love each other freely through soft kisses and desperate moans. When it was the two of them, the rest of the earth just fell away; seemingly insignificant now that they had each other.

When the spring turned to summer, though, the boy had to leave for they had practically no money between the two of them since the farm’s upkeep took over any real profits they would have made. Henry had tried to vow to find some other line of work––to sell the land and move to a town where they could both get better jobs––but the boy would not hear of it. For that night when Henry tried to tell him he would sell the farm if it meant they could be happy and remain together, the boy shook his head and kissed Henry’s knuckles so softly that he thought he might just fly away.

“Your father’s spirit lives here,” the boy told him, “and I would never make you part from him, no matter what. So I will go––I will find passage across the sea and seek fortunes enough to last us a lifetime.”

And Henry had not been able to argue––not when the farm boy looked at him so. “Alexander,” he sighed, for he knew how much the boy hated to be called this name. He moved in and brought their foreheads together. “I do not deserve you.”

And the boy, Alexander, laughed and shook his head, brushing their noses together with the movement. “Impossible,” he said in a whisper, “for it is clear that we deserve each other. Is it not true love?”

Henry had not been able to disagree with him for it was, he knew, true love.

He held onto the fact that their love was true until Alex––for that was his preferred name––had to leave. It was a cold morning, colder than any morning had been in many, many days. It seemed as if the world did not want his dear Alex to leave for the wind beat against the door of the room, making it nearly impossible to open. But Alex wandered to the edge of the property with his horse in tow and Henry followed him all the way because he would not leave him longer than he had to. Alex stopped on the hillside that led up to the main road and took Henry’s head in his hands, kissing his tears away.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he said.

Henry shook his head. “You don’t get to give me orders, farm boy,” he laughed.

Alex kissed the tip of his nose. “As you wish.”

Fearful it might be the last time Henry got to hear those three sacred words leave Alex’s beautiful lips, he pulled Alex close and kissed the words off his lips, holding them dear until Alex returned and he would be able to give them back.

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

“What if something happens to you?” Henry asked, hoping it would make Alex remain a moment longer.

“This is true love,” Alex reminded him, his voice sure and calm. “You think this happens every day? No…it will remain until both of us are long gone––until the world is no more. It cannot be defeated, sweetheart, for we will continue to defy the laws set before us. You, me, and history, remember? We will come back to each other. Always.”

Certain that Alex would be true to his word, Henry awaited his return. For many days, Henry waited by the fireplace feeling empty. Then, days later, he received a letter. It was from Alex––he was somewhere around the world in a land Henry was not familiar with. The letter told him that Alex remained safe and eager to return home to him. Though Henry had no way to reply, for he knew not where Alex would go next in search of fortune, he held onto the letter and pasted it to his wall so he could read it whenever he pleased. As the letters continued to come every few days, Henry added them to his collection. The letters often reduced him to a puddle of tears and emotions, but he did not mind for it felt like Alex was somehow there with him when he saw the sorts of things Alex wrote to him. Though Alex was not classically trained and had no real skill as a writer, not in the way Henry had, the letters made Henry’s heart clench violently in his chest. The ache he felt without Alex’s presence by his side was nearly unbearable.

What was more unbearable, though, was the news he received from a man on horseback. The man came to the farm one morning in the fall as the leaves began to change colors and fall limply to the ground. He was a stranger but he broke Henry’s heart when he delivered the most wretched piece of news that Henry had ever heard. For Alex’s ship had been seized on the seas––seized by a man no other than The Dread Pirate Roberts. And, as everyone well knew, The Dread Pirate Roberts never took prisoners. So with this news went Henry’s very soul. He confined himself to his room and neither slept nor ate for days––weeks, perhaps. Time no longer mattered to him for what was the point of time if not to count down the moments until he held Alex, his dear farm boy, in his arms again?

Angry at the world for taking his love like it took everything else, he tore the letters from his walls and watched them crumple, char, and burn in his fireplace. The news of Alex’s death tore through his body and left nothing but hollowness and pain in its wake––so much so that, one evening by the fire with bags under his eyes and sunken cheeks, he made a vow that he swore to see through until the day he died.

“I will never love again.”


	2. Two

When the Queen and her men appeared on Henry’s property one afternoon and requested he come back to the castle and wed the Princess Madeline, Henry did not refuse. The farm was no longer home to him without either his father or Alex there to keep him company. If anything, the farm only reminded him that he had lost everyone he ever cared about. So he went to the castle, allowing the Queen and her men to load him into a decadent carriage and whisk him away to a new and unfamiliar place. It was a long journey, but it felt good to leave the farm behind. Though he had vowed to never love again––for how could he when his heart had turned frigid––he supposed there was no better alternative for his life than going and marrying this princess.

He found himself thrown into royalty, given everything he could have ever dreamed of. Somehow, all of the things in the world––the finest silks and quills and books––did not make him feel whole again. The castle was cold and large and he often found himself wandering around and disappearing just to lose himself for a while. When he was not free to roam about as he pleased, he was with Princess Madeline. And she was a sweet girl, beautiful, probably, but Henry did not love her. Each time she kissed his cheek before they parted, he thought of nothing but the feeling of Alex’s lips pressed against his cheek to soothe him or say hello. Each time she said goodnight, “As you wish” rang in his mind until the words became so loud and unbearable that he resigned himself to his chambers for a while to cry and curse the man that dared kill his love.

When the Queen asked what they could give him to make him less morose, he balled his hands into fists and fought the urge to scream Alex’s name. But there was nothing even the Queen or her men could do to bring Alex back, so he requested a dog. Something furry and cuddly to keep him company because he felt so lonely and broken that he thought he might have just been wasting away. Death did not seem like such a burden or a fear for it would reunite him with his love, but he accepted the dog in the place of death. He named the dog David because Alex had hated the fact that Henry’s horse, Louis, had such a “human” name. Alex had found human names boring for creatures––his own horse was called “Donkey” because he thought it was amusing to call it the name of another creature.

David kept him company because Alex could not. David slept curled up against his side when the wind stole its way into the castle and turned his chambers cold and unwelcoming. Henry did not mind the company of such a loyal creature, even if he would have much-preferred Alex’s company to the dog’s. Still, though, David always listened when Henry rambled about all that he had lost. When “As you wish” filled his mind, David let Henry speak it over and over again before he collapsed in a fit of tears and exhaustion.

After a time deemed adequate for Henry and Princess Madeline to have gotten to know each other well enough to marry, the Queen announced their engagement. Princess Madeline stood on the balcony with the Queen and the Queen’s most loyal member of the court, Philip––a peculiar, curt sort of man with six fingers on one hand––upon the grand balcony overlooking the square. Henry was dressed for the occasion in a light blue tunic and silver tights and cloak. Upon his head, a circlet was placed to signify his new status but the thing felt heavy and foreign on his head. Royal servants told him when the time was right for him to walk down the carpeted aisle, lined with white flowers, to show himself off to his subjects. The flowers, he had been told, were to represent his purity and virginity as a suitor. The mere thought made him want to scoff for he and his farm boy had been nothing but dirty––filthy, even––with each other since the moment they first kissed. He was as much a virgin groom as he was in love with the princess.

The subjects looked upon him with adoration for he was, as he knew, one of the most handsome men in all the land. Were Alex still here, it was perhaps something that Henry would have liked to tease him about, but Alex was dead and therefore Henry, not his love, was now the most handsome. Still, he knew his obligation. With all the courage he could muster, he waved and bowed to his people to show them great affection despite the fact that he had not known affection for so long. How long had it been since he last held Alex in his arms? Too long, of course. It seemed as if years had passed, perhaps. Time still did not reach him.

Once the festivities were over, he took his horse––a royal one with no name––out for a ride. He first changed into something more comfortable––a blue brocade tunic, trousers, and fine leather boots. Riding was one of the only things that still brought him joy amidst all his heartbreak. When he rode, he could almost imagine that Alex’s arms were wrapped securely around his waist as he held on for dear life. If he rode fast enough, perhaps, he might run to the past and be able to stop Alex from ever leaving on that ship. He would sell his farm for fortune and the two of them would be free to spend their days in some shack some place or another, thrilled simply to be in each other’s company.

As he urged his nameless horse faster across the plentiful, green fields and hills of the Florin countryside, he saw three people standing by the edge of the water. They were a curious sort of group––a man about Henry’s age, an old man, and a woman that was clearly part pixie.

“Excuse me, Your Highness,” the old man said.

Henry stopped to speak to him, never one to turn down helping others.

“We are but three lost circus performers,” he said.

Henry nearly scoffed. They certainly looked like they were circus performers with their strange clothing and mix-matched entourage. A half-pixie consorting with the likes of these two men seemed odd and out of place if not for a circus uniting the three of them.

“We’re looking for food and a place to rest,” the man continued, his eyes somewhat sinister and stomach-coiling. “Is there anything nearby?”

“There is nothing here,” Henry told him, “not for miles and miles.”

The man, the ring-leader of the trio, it seemed, grinned. Too focused on trying to discern what exactly his expression meant, Henry hardly even noticed the pixie slip away and behind him.

“Then there will be no one to hear you scream,” the man said.

Henry opened his mouth to respond but was met with an untimely knock to the head from the pixie that rendered him unconscious.

His body slumped over, nearly falling off his horse, but the pixie woman caught him and carried him, as previously directed, aboard the small ship parked just a few meters away in the water. The two other people followed her on board, watching carefully as she set Henry’s sleeping form down against the wall of the ship.

“Now we set sail for Guilder,” the old man, Richards as he is known to his companions, told his crew.

“Sorry, and why do we have the prince?” the swordsman, Pez, asked. He was smart lad, though prone to bouts of daydreams. Truthfully, he had only one thing on his mind since he was a boy: revenge. It consumed his thoughts completely and made it exceedingly difficult for him to be given any sort of direction.

“To kill him and leave his body on the Guilder Frontier,” Richards explained for what to be the fifth time.

The swordsman shrugged, obviously dubious. “I don’t think it’s right to kill him.”

The pixie, Nora, had already begun to prepare the ship to set sail. For the girl had a strong work ethic and, as she saw it, was hired to do a job that she would complete with the utmost satisfaction. Her half-pixie nature presented itself to be a great asset for people came to her for both her mind and her strength––for pixies were known to be able to carry roughly four times their own weight with little effort. Eager to please her newest master, she quickly got to work at preparing the ship for their timely departure.

“We’ve been hired to start a _war_ ,” Richards told him as the ship started to leave the small docking area and head out to the open channel. “When the people in Florin see that their new prince has been slaughtered and left for dead on the frontier, they’ll certainly believe that Guilder is to blame.”

The swordsman sighed and fiddled with the blade always by his side, a delicately crafted sword with beautiful detail and a blade sharper than any man had known before. “I just think it’s a bit mean to kill him.”

Richards scoffed. “Well, I didn’t hire you for your opinion. I hired you for your skill as a swordsman. Now shut up and help the pixie get us to Guilder. I want to be there by morning.”

Pez nodded and rushed off to assist Nora, though he proved to be of very little use for he had no real experience with ships, especially of this size. So Pez watched as Nora went around the ship to unfurl the sails to ease their journey and to make it to Guilder by morning as instructed.

That night, the prince was awake again. He had woken up in the late afternoon and had been filled to the brim with questions that went unanswered by his captors. So he remained practically silent as he watched the three prepare dinner and keep the ship in line for wherever they had decided to take him.

“The Queen and her men will come for you,” he told them that night as the three of them enjoyed a small feast of things they had most likely stolen from their journeys. “She has the best tracker in the land––a man called Philip that will hunt you down and slaughter you for your treason.”

Richards laughed at him. “I would worry about your own safety, Your Highness,” he said.

Henry rolled his eyes and looked out at the channel before them, wondering where his captors were taking him. They were obviously inexperienced since they had not even bound his wrists together to keep him from simply jumping overboard. So he decided that, when they next got into one of their many pointless arguments, he would use the distraction and jump into the water. Swimming to shore would surely be better than waiting for them to kill him.

The opportunity presented itself sooner than he would have expected when the swordsman kept glancing behind their ship. The paranoia of him set Richards on edge.

“What do you keep looking at?” Richards asked, still seated across from Henry.

“There’s someone following us,” Pez told him, glancing nervously behind the ship and pointing to a hazy shadow in the distance.

The entirety of Richards’ face scrunched up into a horrible mess of wrinkles and confusion. “What? Inconceivable.”

Despite his dismissal, Richards got up to see what the swordsman was talking about, just to make sure. Henry watched as his old body stood and moved across the creaking boards of the ship, certain that his time to escape was fast approaching.

There was, in fact, a ship behind them. It was far away but close enough to be of concern––a possible hindrance to their plans. It irked him to see that there was someone potentially following them for this was supposed to be the gig of a lifetime. He had been offered more gold than he had ever been offered before to kill the prince and start this war, and he was not going to permit some man in a ship to ruin this for him.

“It’s probably just some local fisherman out for a pleasure cruise at night,” Richards determined, his eyes focused on the blur in the distance. “Through…eel infested waters.”

Seeing this as his opportunity and not much listening to the conversation, Henry jumped overboard and into the water. There was a determination in him that he had not had since Alex’s death and he planned on using it to get himself to safety. He started to swim as quickly as he could away from his captors, ripping the water away in broad strokes.

“Go in! After him!” Richards demanded from the ship.

“I can’t swim,” the swordsman shrugged. There had been no time for swimming since he had devoted his entire life to learning the art of the sword.

“I only dog-paddle,” the pixie told him. What good did swimming do for a pixie? She had never needed it.

Insulted by his crew’s incapacity to swim, Richards groaned. “Veer left,” he demanded. “Left, left!”

The pixie rushed to comply, using her great strength to turn the wheel as quickly as possible to move the mighty ship where Richards demanded it go.

A terrible shrieking sound erupted around him, making Henry pause in the water. There were splashes and shapes moving around him but he could not place what they were or if they were the source of the noise. Though he no longer feared death as he once had, the sound startled him and he grew incredibly scared of what sort of horrors might have been lurking beneath the surface of the dark, choppy water.

“Do you know what that sound is, Highness?” Richards asked, leaning over the side of the ship. “Those are the shrieking eels. If you don’t believe me, just wait: they always grow louder when they’re about to feed on human flesh.”

Henry looked around him as the sound grew louder and he saw what was unmistakably an eel’s slimy body creep through the water. His breaths came out shallow and in small puffs of air, visible in the cold of the night. The eel’s head appeared, tearing through the water with another cry, and Henry screamed and squeezed his eyes shut. Perhaps dying now would be a mercy. The crew would not harm him as they most likely intended and Henry would be with Alex again––his sweet farm boy whom he missed so dearly.

So he closed his eyes and braced himself for what he imagined to be a slow, painful death.


	3. Three

Except death did not come to him. Instead, the pixie used her strength to render the eel unconscious and pulled Henry back onto the ship. Frigid and annoyed, Henry glared at the three of them. I would have been, perhaps, kinder for him to die at the hands of the eels. Based on the looks on all three of their faces, it seemed like they might have wished for that as well.

“Put him down,” the leader demanded, “just put him down.”

The pixie did as she was told, dropping him unceremoniously onto the ground.

“I think he’s getting closer,” the swordsman shouted, pointing to the ship behind them.

The leader rolled his eyes and dropped to his knees in front of Henry, grabbing his wrists. “He’s no concern of ours. Sail on!” He turned back to Henry, securing his wrists with rope. “I suppose you think you’re brave, don’t you?”

And, to Henry, the idea was more laughable than anything he’d heard in a while. For he knew he was not brave––if he were brave, he would not be here. If he were brave, Alex would still be alive. If he were brave, he would not be Henry. Alex was the brave one––the one who taught Henry to be braver and who let Henry see who he could have been. But Henry was brave in his own right, he supposed, especially in comparison to the three other people on the ship.

“Only compared to some,” he said, looking the leader dead in the eye.

What he did not say, or possibly what he should have said, was _not compared to him_.

It was a peaceful night, all things considering, though Henry did not dare to get even a minute of sleep.

The ship sailed through the night, not stopping for a moment. And the ship behind them followed closely, though not close enough for them to see who the mysterious captain was. And in the morning, under a pink sky, the swordsman was still concerned with their follower.

“He’s right on top of us,” he said. His eyes had not left the ship behind them all night, though it seemed of little worry to the leader.

“He’s too late,” the leader said, standing. Henry could practically hear his old bones creak. “See? The Cliffs of Insanity!”

Henry followed his extended finger and saw, in the distance, monstrous cliffs. They were far too high for any sane man to consider climbing, even for sport or thrill. But the height of the cliffs gave the leader no qualms. Instead, he demanded his crew to steer them right to the base of the cliffs. Henry watched, slightly intrigued, as the duo moved about the ship to please their master and get them to the desired location. They pulled up to the base of the cliffs to a makeshift dock where they had clearly been earlier to set things up. There was a rope tied around a rock to hold the ship and what looked like a rope and a harness that went all the way up the cliffs. Henry feared for what they would do for there was no way he would climb the rocks himself. There was no way any of them would manage to climb the rocks, surely.

“We’re safe,” the leader told them as they tied the ship up, keeping it close to the rocks. “Only Nora is strong enough to get up the cliffs. He’ll die trying.”

Without much of a struggle, he was ushered over to the harness and secured in one of its holds. The pixie started to climb up the face of the cliff, using the rope to anchor herself and pull all of them up along with her. Henry held on for dear life, deeply terrified of what might happen if they fell.

“He’s climbing the rope,” the swordsman said as he looked down. “ _And_ he’s gaining on us!” Henry dared not to look down, keeping his eyes firmly shut.

“Inconceivable,” the leader murmured. “Faster!”

“I thought I was going faster,” the pixie argued, obviously annoyed. “The statistical likelihood of him catching up to us is––”

“I didn’t ask for a numbers lesson,” the leader barked. “I hired you for your strength. Now use it! Or maybe I’ll just have to find myself a new pixie.”

“Don’t say that,” Nora huffed, trying to move faster as to not displease him.

“Did I make it clear that your _job_ is at stake?”

Henry only opened his eyes when he felt himself being pulled up onto a ledge and, excited for solid ground, he scrambled up onto it as best he could with his bound hands. The swordsman aided him, pulling him completely and setting him down against a rock where he focused on his breathing.

The leader, only now worried about their follower, pulled out a dagger and started to frantically cut the rope, hoping that it would make the man fall to his death. The swordsman and the pixie rushed over to see if the plan had worked, but it had failed. The man, dressed in all black as they could now see, clung to cliffs for his life and looked up at them.

“He’s got very good arms,” the pixie murmured, annoyed that he had not, as she previously thought he would, fall to his death.

The swordsman giggled and elbowed her. “Oh hush.”

The leader came between them, shoving them aside. “He didn’t fall? Inconceivable!”

Nora huffed and turned to him. “You keep using that word,” she told him, “I do not think it means what you think it means.” In fact, she knew it did not.

“Oh my _God_ ,” the swordsman exclaimed, “he’s _climbing_.”

The leader rolled his eyes. “Well, whoever he is, he’s obviously seen us with the Prince and therefore must die. You,” he said, turning to the pixie, “carry him.” The pixie saluted him and went off to get Henry. “We’ll head straight for the Guilder frontier. Catch up when he’s dead. If he falls, fine. If not, the sword.”

He turned to ready himself, the pixie, and the Prince for their journey to the frontier, but the swordsman was not quite caught up with this new plan. All his life he had spent learning the art of the sword. He was, in fact, unbeatable. It simply would not have been fair to just kill the man who had so much passion and drive for taking the Prince for himself.

“I’m gonna duel him left-handed,” he said, smiling.

Richards groaned and turned to face him. “You _know_ what a hurry we’re in!”

The swordsman shrugged. “It’s the only way I can be satisfied,” he explained. “If I just kill him, which I will, it’s…it’ll be over too quickly. I need to have some fun with this––it’s been so long since I’ve been in a proper duel.”

The leader groaned but did not argue. “Fine. Have it your way.” With that, he turned to leave.

The pixie, still holding Henry firm in her gasp, moved to the swordsman and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Pez, please be careful,” she begged. “The statistics say that people in masks can’t be trusted.”

“I’m waiting!” Richards called.

The pixie rolled her eyes and kissed Pez’s cheek. “Be _careful_.”

He nodded, too charmed to say actual words.

The leader, the pixie, and the Prince took off for the frontier, leaving the swordsman on his own. Eager and excited for the duel, he started to warm himself up. He stretched out his hands and his legs for a moment, making sure he was ready for the duel since it had been so long since he had a proper opponent. Annoyed that the man was not yet up to the top of the cliff, Pez turned and walked over to the side, peering down at him.

“Hello there!” he called, waving. “Slow going?”

“Hey, man,” the man said, “I’m trying to be rude or anything, but this isn’t as easy as it looks. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t distract me.”

Pez folded his arms across his chest and sighed. “Sorry.” He turned and pulled the sword out of its sheath, feeling the cool steel in his hands. It entertained him only for a moment, but then he re-sheathed the blade and turned back to the man who was still attempting to climb up the face of the cliff.

“I don’t suppose you could, I dunno, speed things up?”

The man in black sighed. “If you’re in such a hurry, you could lower a tree branch or a rope or something. Or, you know, find something useful to do.”

Pez thought about it for a moment and smiled. “Oh, I could do that! I’ve actually got some rope up here…but I don’t know if you would accept my help since I’m just waiting to kill you.”

The man in black looked at him for a moment. “Yeah, that does kinda put a damper on our relationship.”

Pez frowned, knowing that he was right. “Oh, what if I promise not to kill you until you reach the top?”

The man in black thought about it for a moment. “As comforting as that is, I think you’ll just have to wait.”

Pez, growing anxious, tried to think of another way to entice him into accepting his generous offer. “I’ll give you my word as a swordsman!”

The man tried to reach up to get a new hold of a rock but ended up slipping a bit. “No good,” he said, getting a better hold, “I’ve known too many swordsmen.”

“Is there any way you’ll trust me?”

The man shook his head. “Nothing comes to mind.”

After a moment, Pez understood exactly what he had to say. “I swear on the soul of my father: you will reach the top alive.”

They stared at each other for a moment. “Throw me the rope.”

Grinning, Pez went to fetch some of the rope to throw it down to the man. He accepted it gratefully and, with the help of the swordsman, got himself to the top of the cliffs. He immediately pulled out his sword to fight, but Pez felt kind and did not want to rush this.

“Take your time,” Pez said, gesturing to a rock.

“Thanks,” the man in black answered, sitting down. He started to remove his boots to shake out the pebbles that had taken up residence there.

Pez watched him as he readied himself for the duel, taking in his features. There was not much to see due to the mask that obscured a large portion of his face, but he could see that he had kind eyes. They were brown and, despite their determined gleam, he could see that there was pain there, too. And he had a beard––a small one that was obviously well-maintained. His appearance confirmed that he was, as Pez predicted, a fighter. Hopefully, he was a good one.

“I don’t mean to pry,” Pez said, holding his arms across his chest, “but do you by any chance happen to have six fingers on your right hand?”

The man in black looked at him for a moment. “Do you always start conversations this way?”

Pez chuckled half-heartedly. “My father was slaughtered by a six-fingered man.”

The man in black looked apologetic for a moment before holding up a gloved hand.

Five fingers.

“He was a great sword maker,” Pez told him, happy to have someone new to talk to. “My father, I mean. When the six-fingered man came to him and asked for a sword––a special sword––my father took the job. He worked an entire year before he was done.” He stood and unsheathed his sword again, holding it out to the man in black.

The man in black took it cautiously and turned it over in his hands, admiring the quality craftsmanship. “I’ve never seen its equal,” he said, handing it back to Pez.

Pez smiled and took it. “The six-fingered man returned and demanded it, but only for one-tenth his promised price. My father, well, he refused. Without another word, the man slaughtered him. Stabbed him right through the heart, you know.” With a deep breath, he returned the sword to its sheath. “I loved my father. So, obviously, I challenged his murderer to a duel. I failed. But he left me alive, giving me these,” he explained, pointing to the two thin scars on his cheeks.

“How old were you?”

He did not need to even think about it. The year was stuck in his mind on a near-constant loop. “Eleven. And, when I was strong enough, I decided to dedicate my life to studying fencing. So the next time we meet, I will not fail. I will go up to the six-fingered man and I’ll say, ‘Hello. My name is Percy Okonjo. You killed my father. Prepare to die.’”

He looked off into the distance for a moment, dreaming of the moment he hoped would come to pass.

“You’ve done nothing but study swordplay?” the man in black asked, intrigued by his tale.

“More pursue it than study it lately,” he sighed, sitting down next to the man with the mask. “I can’t seem to find him. It’s been so long now that I’m starting to wonder if I ever will. Now I just work for Richards to pay the bills.” He chuckled. “There’s not a lot of money in revenge, you know.”

Silence fell over the two of them for a moment, his words hanging heavy in the air between them. Perhaps telling the entirety of his life’s story to a stranger was not the best way to introduce himself, but he had not met many people whom he could tell such things to. And, more likely than not, the man in black would be dead in a few minutes time.

“Well, I hope you find him,” the man in black told him, getting to his feet.

“You ready then?” Pez asked, getting to his feet as well.

The man sighed. “Well, whether I am or not, you’ve been more than fair.”

Pez could not help but chuckle. “You seem a decent fellow,” he admitted with a smile, “I hate to kill you.”

The man in black smiled at him. “You seem a decent fellow,” he replied, “I hate to die.”

Pez smiled back at him and unscathed his sword, readying himself. He watched as the man did the same.

“Begin.”


	4. Four

They stared at each other for a moment, each wondering who would be victorious. It was indeed true that the swordsman had practiced the craft for the majority of his life, but the man in black had spent his most recent years with nothing but the craft to learn. His life depended on it, in fact. So it was to be a fierce battle with both men matched for skill.

Pez raised his sword and took the first strike, but the man in black easily dodged it. They circled for a moment, maintaining heated eye contact. With a grin, for he had waited years to find someone of his skill level, Pez struck again and was countered by the other man’s sword. The man in black took a slow swipe at Pez’s head, testing the waters, and he ducked out of the way.

They smiled at each other, done with the teasing, and attacked. They were both fast on their feet and good with their hands. In no time, they were sparring with precision. Each slash of the sword was not truly intended to hurt the other––it was more of a challenge of skill than it was a real duel. Both men moved with such skill, in fact, that they sought to impress each other. Due to the rocky terrain, there was ample space for them to show off little tricks they had picked up over the years. Pez, just to see if he could truly impress the man, did a flip off of a rock and watched as the man leaped down after him, attacking him more fiercely than before.

“You’re positively wonderful,” Pez gushed.

“Thanks, I’ve worked hard to become so,” the man responded as their swords hit each other with a clink.

“I admit that you’re better than I am,” Pez said with a smile.

The man noticed. “Then why are you smiling?”

Pez knew he was being backed against one of the decaying walls, but he paid it no mind. “Because I know something you don’t know,” he told him.

“And what is that?”

With a vicious grin, Pez told him his secret. “I am not left-handed.” He switched the sword to his other hand and began to attack the man with even more precision and strength than before. The difference was so great, in fact, that he quickly pushed the man back and got himself out of the corner. More confident now with his dominant hand in play, he attacked more furiously, leading the man where he desired to take him.

“You’re amazing,” the man in black told him as he jumped backward, maneuvering a decrepit spiral staircase without even looking.

“I ought to be after all these years,” Pez said.

Now it was the man in black who was against a wall. Pez leaned into him, believing that this was where he won.

“There’s something I should probably tell you,” the man in black said, struggling to remain upright.

Pez raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s that?”

“I’m not left-handed, either,” the man said. He pushed Pez backward and threw his sword in the air, catching it with his right hand and swishing the blade triumphantly to show off his better hand. In one swift move, the man in black hit Pez’s beautiful sword and sent it flying. Pez quickly used an old vine to help him move diagonally across the space, landing by his sword. He watched as the man in black threw his own sword perfectly, landing it in a clump of dirt and grass, and jumped to the very vine the swordsman had utilized only moments before. With a grace that the swordsman had never seen before, the man in black’s body went around before he let go, did a flip, and landed by his sword. He picked it up and stared at the swordsman as if to ask if he was impressed.

Pez blinked at him in disbelief. “Who _are_ you?”

“No one of consequence,” the man replied.

“I must know,” Pez begged. The intrigue of such a mysterious and talented man had him baffled and he desperately wanted to know his story––how he got to be so talented.

“Get used to disappointment.”

Pez sighed and they got back to fighting, their swords clanking together more frequently now. Now exhausted of all of this fighting and eager to get it over with, Pez took a few vicious slashes at the man’s head, all of which he avoided easily. Then the man in black swished his sword in front of Pez’s face before bringing it towards his head. The blade was close to his face that Pez could have sworn the man had given him another scar. In horror, he dropped his sword and, with shaking hands, reached to see if there was blood. The man circled him with his blade drawn, obviously going to kill him.

“Kill me quickly,” Pez plead, sinking to his knees.

“I would soon destroy a stained-glass window as an artist like yourself,” the man said, still circling him. However, since I can’t have you following me, either…”

In one motion, he delivered a hard blow to the back of the swordsman’s head.

Now unconscious, the swordsman fell over.

“Please understand I hold you in the _highest_ respect,” the man in black said.

Without another word, he ran off. There was only one real direction he could go––towards the Guilder frontier. It was the most likely spot for the thugs to bring the Prince, so the man in black would follow them. With only two left, he was quite sure that he would be able to retrieve the Prince as he set out to do.

The leader and the pixie saw him as he ran after them, his black robes whipping in the wind as he sprinted across the rolling hills of the Guilder countryside.

“Inconceivable!” Richards shouted, positively vexed that the man had beaten his swordsman. “Give him to me.” The pixie, never one to question her orders, handed the Prince over to him. “Catch up with us quickly.”

“What do I do?” she asked him as he grabbed the Prince.

“Finish him. Finish him your way.”

Nora nodded and thought about it for a moment, unsure what to make of the order. What was her way? She considered herself talented in many facets, though she knew that she couldn’t simply use statistics to fight him or something of that nature. Though she had great strength, she was smaller than the man was for certain, so it was entirely probable that he would beat her. 

Perhaps there was some sort of test she could use to see what kind of man he was. Then, from there, she could know how to defeat him.

She picked up a rock––one that would be too heavy for any human to lift––and hid behind a massive boulder while she waited for him to come into view.

As soon as the man was in her sight, she threw the rock. She did not intend to hit him with it––killing him so quickly would not be the fun challenge that she desired––so she calculated perfectly and threw it close enough to make him fear for his life but far enough that it smashed to pieces behind him. He drew his sword and looked for her, obviously eager to get this over with and go claim the Prince.

She emerged from behind the boulder and picked up another rock in defense. “I didn’t have to miss,” she told him.

“I believe that,” he said. “Now what?”

“We face each other as equals. No tricks, no weapons. Skill against skill alone.”

The man looked at her, studying her to see if she was telling the truth. “Okay, so, I put down my sword and you put down your rock and we try and kill each other like civilized people?”

She raised her arm and her eyebrow. “I could kill you now,” she warned.

The man shook his head and raised his arms in surrender. “No, I’ll––let me just set down my sword.” She watched intently as he dropped his sword to the ground. She lowered the rock and threw it down. “The odds might be slightly in your favor in this kind of combat,” the man told her.

“I can’t argue with that,” she agreed, knowing very well that it was unlikely that he would beat her. Though he was taller, she was much stronger and, in her opinion, much smarter. Still, though, they both were true to their word. No tricks, no weapons. Skill against skill.

The man ran straight for her but fell to the ground. Though she had no idea of what it must have felt like, she could only imagine that it felt like hitting rock itself. He got up and tried again but his meager strength was useless compared to her own.

“Are you just fucking with me?” he asked.

She frowned at him. “No, I just want you to feel like you’re doing well,” she told him. “I’d hate for you to die all embarrassed.”

“Wow, thanks.”

She moved to attack him but he dodged the advance and rolled onto the ground and away from her before jumping back to his feet.

“You’re quick,” she said, having not taken this into her calculations. Her chance of winning seemed to shrink before her very eyes.

“Good thing,” he chuckled.

She approached him again, trying to figure out when next to strike. “Why do you wear that mask? Were you in some sort of accident?” Maybe, if he had been in an accident, things would once again be in her favor.

“No, they’re just very comfortable,” he explained, dodging another attack from her. “I think everyone will be wearing them in the future.”

He leaped onto her back, wrapping his arms around her neck. She backed him directly against a rock, not truly feeling it herself but knowing that it must have hurt him, at least.

“I think I figured out why you’re giving me so much trouble,” she told him, slamming him back into a rock.

“Why’s that?”

She moved forward then back again, hearing his body thud against the stone. “I’m not used to fighting one person. I’ve been specializing in groups, you know.”

“Why should that make such a difference?” he asked. He sounded like he was in pain which made her feel better, especially considering the fact she could feel the breath leaving her body.

“Well, it’s different. When you’re fighting a group, you use different moves,” she explained in a hoarse voice. He was strangling her, she realized. Just…very slowly. And he didn’t seem to be giving up, either. “It’s a different set of…calculations.” She fell to her knees. “Than when you’re fighting…just…one.”

She fell to the ground completely, now unconscious.

The man released his hold of her and pushed her on her back so he could ensure that she was still alive. Confident that her heartbeat was strong, he brushed the hair off of her forehead. “I’m sorry for the headache you’ll have when you wake up,” he told her.

He got to his feet, retrieved his sword, and sprinted down the way to find the Prince.


	5. Five

Little did the man in black know that, whilst he fought the foes in order to retrieve the Prince, he was being followed. It was slow going at first for word first had to reach the castle that the Prince had been taken in the first place, but once the news reached them, they set out at once for Guilder. The Queen and her best men had just arrived on the scene at the top of the cliffs where the man in black had reigned victorious over the swordsman who, upon waking, fled the scene entirely. Count Philip––a bold man with impeccable tracking abilities––walked himself through the duel, using nothing more than the imprints of feet in the ashen terrain to paint a picture of what had recently occurred here.

“There was a mighty duel here,” he said, confident that he was correct. Following the tracks, he moved around the rubble to mimic what he was sure the duel had looked like. “It ranged all over. They were both _masters_.”

“Who won?” the Queen asked from her mighty steed. “How did it end, Philip?”

Ever eager to please his Queen, Philip set to work, looking closely at the two distinct footprints. “The loser ran off alone,” he examined. “But the winner followed those footprints towards Guilder.” He pointed to the footprints in question.

The Queen, in awe of his skills, nodded along. “Shall we track both?”

Philip turned to her and shook his head. “The loser means nothing to us. Only your Prince matters, yes?” He cleared his throat and moved to address the entirety of the group. “Clearly this was planned by warriors of Guilder. We must all be ready for whatever may come.”

With that, he mounted his horse.

“Philip, is it possible that this is a trap?” the Queen asked.

“I always think everything could be a trap,” Philip laughed, taking the reins in his hands. “Which is why I’m still alive.” They rode off in search of the victor, eager to find the man before he could harm the Prince.

Across the Guilder countryside, the man in black sprinted across rolling green hills in pursuit of the Prince. For he, too, was a master of tracking and easily followed the sets of footprints that lead away from the pixie and to, he presumed, the leader and the Prince. When he reached them, he was surprised to find the leader, an old boorish-looking man, sitting by a rock. It was as if he had no faith in his men for he had already prepared himself for the masked man’s arrival. The Prince was seated to his left with a blindfold on and a dagger held to his throat. On the rock in front of them sat a worn cloth topped with bread, cheese, fruit, wine, and two goblets. Intrigued, the man in black approached him slowly.

“So it is down to you, and it is down to me,” the leader said with a wicked smile, clearly pleased.

With his jaw set and fists clenched, the man in black took another step forward.

For some reason, the leader found this funny. “If you wish him dead,” he laughed, “by all means, keep moving forward.”

Terrified of what was at stake, the man froze. He put his hands up in surrender, showing he meant no harm. “Just let me explain,” he said with a smile, taking another step forward. His charm and smile had persuaded many to do as he wished, but that was not the case with Richards.

“There’s nothing to explain,” Richards said. “You’re trying to kidnap what I’ve rightfully stolen!”

The man took a deep breath. “Maybe we could make some sort of arrangement,” he said, daring to step forward again.

The movement, or perhaps the smug smile, made Richards inch the dagger closer to the Prince’s throat. “There’s no arrangement to be made, and you’re _killing_ him.”

The Prince hissed in pain upon feeling the cool metal dig into his throat, piercing the skin. Upon seeing this, the man in black instantly stopped moving. His eyes widened in fear that the leader would be true to his word and slaughter the Prince if he dared to move another inch.

“Well, if there’s no arrangement, I think we’re at an impasse,” the man in black said, keeping his eyes firmly on the dagger.

Richards chuckled, keeping the dagger firmly on the Prince’s strong neck. “I’m afraid so. It’s obvious I cannot compete with you physically, and you’re _no_ match for my brains.”

The man in black could not help but chuckle at the statement. Ever cocky, he folded his arms across his chest. “You’re that smart, huh?”

Bemused that someone would dare insult his intellect, Richards scoffed. But his greatest fault, his pride, got the better of him. Eager to prove himself, he opened his mouth. “Let’s put it this way, shall we? Plato, Aristotle, Socrates? Fake news. _Morons_ , the lot of them.”

The masked man scoffed, bewildered by the man’s confidence. “ _Really_?” Well, two could play at this game, he supposed. “Then I challenge you to a battle of wits.”

Richards smirked triumphantly. “For the Prince?”

The man nodded in agreement.

“To the death?”

He nodded again.

“Great, then I accept!”

“Pour the wine,” the masked man instructed, moving over and sitting down across from him.

Richards did as he requested, pouring the wine into the two ornate goblets set before them on the table. Though Richards was indeed smart, to some degree, he was not smart enough to understand what the challenge would entail. When the masked man reached into his robes and produced a small vial, his eyes widened in surprise. The man uncorked the vial and handed it to him.

“Smell it, but don’t touch it,” he instructed.

Richards took the vial and inhaled only to find that there was no particular scent to the strange powder. He scoffed and passed it back over the table. “I smell nothing.”

“What you don’t smell is iocane powder,” he told him, holding the vial up for him to see. “It’s odorless, tasteless, and dissolves instantly in liquid. It’s also one of the most deadliest poisons known to man. Neat, huh?”

Richards watched as the man took both goblets and, out of Richards’ sight, poured the powder. When the man turned back to him, a smile on his face, he made a big show of setting the goblets down with one in front of each of them. Amused at the little flourish, Richards chuckled. He was eager to prove himself to be the smartest man, as he knew he was.

“Okay, so which one of these is poisoned? The battle of wits has begun,” the masked man told him. “It ends when _you_ decide and we both drink. Then we can find out who is right and, well, you know, who’s dead. I think it’ll be pretty obvious.”

Richards did not hesitate before opening his mouth. “But it’s so simple,” he argued. “I have to do is divine––”

The masked man tried to not laugh at his incorrect word choice.

“From what I know of you. Are you the sort of man who would put the poison into his own goblet or the goblet of his enemy? Now, a clever man, like myself, would put the poison into his own goblet, because he would surely already know that only a moron would take what was put in front of him. But I’m not a moron, so clearly I can’t choose the wine in front of you. But you knew I was _not_ a fool, so clearly I can’t choose the wine in front of me.”

Annoyed, the masked man rolled his eyes. “Have you decided, then?”

Richards barked a hoarse laugh. “Not even close. Because iocane comes from Australia, as everyone knows!”

Well, it was not true: iocane did not, in fact, come from Australia. The masked man dared not correct him.

“And Australia is full of crooks. And crooks are used to having people not trust them, as you are not trusted by me, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you.”

Holding back his laughter, the masked man rested his chin on the palm of his head, shaking his head like he was astonished. “Truly, you have a _dizzying_ intellect.”

“Ha, just wait till I get going!” he paused, unsure of himself. “Where was I?”

“Australia.”

“Yes, Australia! And you must have suspected that I would know the powder’s origin, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.”

Fed up, the man rolled his eyes again. “You’re just stalling now, aren’t you?”

“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you? You’ve beaten my pixie which means you’re exceptionally strong, so you could’ve put the poison in your own goblet, hoping your own strength would save you, so I can _clearly_ not choose the wine in front of you. But you also bested my swordsman, which means that you’ve studied. And, in studying, you must have learned that man is mortal, so you would have put the poison as far away from yourself as possible. So I cannot choose the wine in front of me.”

“You’re trying to trick me,” he warned, “into giving something away. It won’t work.”

“It has worked!” Richards protested. “You’ve given away everything! I know where the poison is.”

“Then make your fucking _choice_.”

“I will, I will. And I choose––what’s that?” he asked, pointed behind the masked man’s shoulder. As he predicted, the masked man turned. While his back was to the table, he switched the goblets.

“There’s nothing there,” the masked man frowned.

“Oh, really? Hm, I could’ve sworn I saw something.” With a dramatic sigh, he gestured to the goblets. “Anyway, let’s drink.”

Unable to hold in some of his gleeful laughter, so the man in black stared at him confoundedly. “What’s so funny?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” he promised. “First, let’s drink. Me from my goblet and you from, uh, yours.”

They each took a sip of the wine before setting the goblets back down upon the makeshift table. “You guessed wrong,” the masked man told him with a smile.

“You only think I guessed wrong,” he laughed. “That’s what’s so funny! I switched the goblets while your back was turned. Haha, you fool! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders. The most famous, of course, is to never get involved in a land war in Asia, but only slightly less known is this: never go in against a Republican when _death_ is on the line!”

He burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter before promptly falling over.

Dead.

With a sigh, the masked man looked over to the Prince and rushed to take his blindfold off. They made eye contact for a moment, but whatever the man hoped to achieve by doing so did not happen.

“Who are you?” the Prince asked, taking in the man’s features. There was something eerily familiar about him, but he could not quite place what that was. The mask hindered the Prince’s full view of his face and he had never known someone with such a perfectly groomed beard.

“I’m no one to be fucked with,” the man told him, untying the ropes that held his wrists and legs together. “That’s all you need to know.”

Henry stared at him for a moment before frowning. “And to think,” he sighed, “all that time it was your cup that was poisoned.”

Done with untying the Prince, the masked man looked up at him with a smile. “They were both poisoned, actually.” He pulled Henry to his feet. “I spent the last few years building up an immunity to the stuff. Neat trick though, right?”

The masked man took Henry’s hands and led him off and down one of the hills, far from the battle of wits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'm @bibliothesoph on Tumblr! Come say hi or yell at me or send me memes!


	6. Six

Whilst the man in black escorted the Prince down one of the rolling hills, the Queen and her men were close at their heels. Having just arrived at the aftermath of his battle with the pixie, Philip was once again surveying the scene in hopes to uncover what had happened there previously. On his knees, he examined the tracks on the ground.

“Someone has beaten a pixie,” he claimed. Though it was easily known by those who had studied tracks for pixies notoriously had small feet with a heavy step that left a small but deep imprint in the ground.

“There will be great suffering in Guilder if he dies,” the Queen proclaimed in response, referring, of course, to the Prince.

Everyone nodded in agreement as Philip mounted his horse and they rode off to follow the set of tracks that led away from the second battle and onto the third.

Across the Guilder countryside, the man in black dragged the Prince across the green ground at an alarming speed, pulling the Prince behind him by his wrist. When they were a far enough distance from the scene of the battle of wits, the man in black threw the Prince down onto a nearby rock.

“Catch your breath,” he demanded, tone clipped.

“Release me,” the Prince begged, catching his breath. “Please. Whatever you want––whatever ransom––I promise they’ll give it to you.”

The man in black could not help but laugh at the absurd idea that there was some sort of ransom he desired. Fortune was lost on him now. Money had no real value to him. He was rich beyond most people’s wildest dreams––he sought no ransom or reward. “And what do you think your word is worth? You’re hilarious, Highness.”

Henry scoffed and, with his chin out, proceeded to puff his chest out. If only he could be half as brave as his farm boy had been. “I was giving you a chance,” he told him in the deepest, most regal voice he could muster. “It does not matter where you take me. The Queen and Philip will track you down. He is the best hunter in all the land––you cannot begin to hope to outsmart him.”

“You think your dearest love, the Princess, will order them to save you?” the man in black asked, leaning against a tall rock.

The words struck a nerve in Henry––a nerve he had hoped to have tied up years ago. “I never said she was my dearest love,” he whispered. “But yes, I know that the Queen will come to save me. I’m certain of it. Princess Madeline has requested it, I know it.”

The man in black approached him, circling him like a vulture. “You admit you don’t love your fiancé?”

With a heated glare, Henry looked up at him. “She knows I do not love her.”

The man in black’s eye contact was pointed and fierce––it made Henry feel like he had done something wrong. “Are not capable of love, is what you mean.”

The accusation that he had not loved before––that he had not loved so deeply and passionately, that he did not feel love in every fiber of his being––drew him to his feet to challenge the man in black. For he had loved. He had loved more deeply and painfully than anyone he had ever known. More deeply than he had known love could even go. It had filled him up––consumed both his body and soul until there was room for nothing else inside of him. Yes, he had loved. And he had lost, too. And the pain of losing Alex still blazed like a thousand suns burning inside of him.

“I have loved more deeply than a killer like yourself could ever dream,” he shouted. He had not meant to shout, but the words bubbled up inside of him and spewed like a roaring flame. To insinuate that Henry was not capable of loving someone was to say that the sun did not shine––that the birds did not sing. The love he felt for Alex was woven into his very essence. It was his only true purpose in life.

The man in black raised his arm and Henry flinched in fear that the man would hit him.

“That was a warning, Highness,” he told the Prince. “The next time I won’t hold back. For where I come from, there are penalties when someone lies.”

Without so much as another word, the man in black took his wrist again and dragged him across more of the countryside. Henry did not fight for he had already fought for so long and had never known triumph or victory. At least, when the man in black inevitably slaughtered him for whatever reason, he would see Alex again.

Across the barren land, Philip sniffed at a vial.

“Iocane,” he pronounced. “I bet my life on it.” He looked down the hill and saw what were clearly Henry’s footprints. “And there are the Prince’s footprints. He’s alive, or was, no more than an hour ago.”

“If he is otherwise when we find him,” the Queen remarked, “I shall be very put out.”

Philip nodded in agreement and mounted his horse yet again, leading the Queen and the rest of the men down the hill to set off after the Prince.

The man in black, leagues away from the Queen, once again set Henry down upon a rock. “Rest, Highness.”

“I know who you are,” Henry told him, breathless from the running. “Your cruelty reveals everything.”

Amused, the man in black raised an eyebrow and allowed Henry to speak.

“You’re the Dread Pirate Roberts,” Henry accused, “admit it!”

Smirking, the man in black bowed. “With pride. How can I be of assistance?”

Henry’s face paled at the admission. For him, there could be no greater crime committed than what the man before him had done. Suddenly, all simply anger and confusion he had harbored swirled and churned into a fiery rage in his stomach. Tears sprang to his eyes and threatened to fall as he looked at the masked man. “You can die slowly,” he said, his voice broken and flooded with all of the emotion he had kept in for so long now, “cut into a thousand pieces.”

The words were not strong enough to satisfy him. What he most desired was to be the one to kill him––to see the life leave his body. As a nonviolent person, the thought surprised him. Upon further reflection, he found that he was not scared of the murderous rage that swept through him, though. It was justified in every sense and meaning of the word. To kill the man before him would be a service to many, not only himself. How many more people had lost their loves because of this man? How many hearts had he broken?

The man in black folded his arms across his chest and clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Not a great compliment, Your Highness. Why are you so mad at me?”

With a steely gaze and tears in his eyes, Henry glared at him. “You killed my love.”

“It’s entirely possible,” the man in black sighed as if bored. “I _do_ kill a lot of people. Who was this ‘love’ of yours? Another royal like this one?”

Henry was glad to see the man walk behind him for he could not bring himself to look at him in this moment.

“Ugly? Rich? Scabby?”

The insult to Alex––his Alex––made him turn to face him. It was too much. “No. He was a farm boy. Poor.” He took a deep breath and turned again for the moment felt too vulnerable for the evil man to see the look of longing and sadness upon his face. “Poor and perfect. With a fire inside of him that––that made me smile even on my darkest days.” He sighed, overcome with emotion and unable to continue for a moment. He turned to the masked man once again, tears spilling from his eyes. “On the high seas your ship attacked, and the Dread Pirate Roberts never takes prisoners.”

The masked man, the Dread Pirate Roberts, laughed as if this was funny. “Well, I can’t afford to take prisoners or make any exceptions. If word gets around that a pirate has gone soft, people disobey you, and then it’s nothing but work, work, work all the time. Can you imagine how exhausting that would be?”

Henry shudders in anger. “You mock my pain!”

The man cuts him a stern look, ever unforgiving. “Life _is_ pain, Highness. Anyone that tells you any different is selling something.”

Henry glared at him a moment longer, unable to wrap his mind around the stone-cold, emotionless, heart (or lack thereof) of his new captor. He turned away from him, utterly done with this conversation. He had not spoken Alex’s name in years––had not talked about him so freely before. And to do so broke his heart all over again in new ways that it hadn’t the first time. Any parts of himself that he had managed to conceal and stitch together were now raw and bleeding. He had never felt more vulnerable.

He heard the Dread Pirate Roberts get to his feet but he did not turn to look at him. How could he look upon the face of the man that had killed his love?

“I remember this farm boy of yours, I think,” the man said. “This would be what? Five years ago?”

Though the words made his heart crumble in his chest, Henry’s body remained still as the tears fell freely from his eyes.

“Does it bother you to hear me speak of it?”

He closed his eyes, imagining Alex’s face smiling at him. The image quickly shifted to Alex dying––to the man before him slaughtering him with no reason other than boredom and sake of reputation. “Nothing you say can upset me,” he whispered. “Not anymore.”

Taking that as a sign, the masked man continued. “He died well. That should please you, I think. No bribe attempts or blubbering. He simply said ‘please. Please, I need to live.’” The man in black walked forward as he spoke but paused when he recounted Alex’s words.

The mention of Alex’s words––of his desperate attempt to live for Henry’s sake alone––made his tears fall harder.

“’ Twas the ‘please’ that caught my attention. As a pirate, no one ever says such things. So I asked him what was so important. ‘True love,’ he replied.”

Henry felt the man’s gaze on him and he looked up to meet it, his eyes red and raw from an overload of emotion and memory. It broke his heart more than he could have imagined hearing such things about Alex’s death. So desperately he had wished, for years, to know how Alex had died. All sorts of imaginings took shape in his mind over the time he spent without Alex in his arms, but never had those grim fantasies been as dark and painful as the reality. Now that he knew what had happened, he wished he didn’t. He wished to go back in time and prevent himself from ever hearing of this.

“And then he told me about a man of surpassing beauty and faithfulness,” the man said with a laugh. “I can only assume he meant you.” He paused for a moment as if the memory of it somehow hurt him. “You should thank me for killing him before he found out what you really are.”

Biting his lip, Henry stood and faced him head-on. He was taller than the masked man, he now realized, but he had never felt so small and insignificant. “And what am I?” he cried.

“ _Faithfulness_ he talked of! Your enduring _faithfulness_. Now tell me truly. When you found out he was gone, did you get engaged to your Princess the same hour or did you wait an entire week out of respect for the dead?”

The words sliced through his heart like a knife and sent him bleeding in different directions. “You mocked me once,” Henry shouted, “never do it again!” With a shaky breath, more tears forced their way from his eyes. “I _died_ that day.”

The man stared back at him, clearly not believing the painful truth of his words.

In the distance, there was the sound of hooves thumping across the grassy earth. The man turned to see it and Henry saw an opportunity.

While his back was turned, Henry summoned all the bravery and courage he could muster and pushed his arms forward. “You can die, too, for all I care,” he seethed, pushing the man roughly.

He watched with a smile as the masked man began to tumble down the hill at a remarkable speed, his small body jerking and jumping with each rock he encountered on the way down.

“As you wish!” the man shouted as he fell.

At first, the words did not reach Henry. He had not heard them in so long––had nearly forgotten the dear importance they held to him. In an instant, he recalled the memories of Alex saying those words to him all that time ago––his way of telling Henry that he loved him.

The series of emotions that flooded his mind and passed across his face were so large that they were impossible to describe. He gasped in horror at the realization of what he had done. “Oh, my sweet Alex…what have I done?”


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit shorter because the Fire Swamp demands its own chapter (which will be the next one, obviously).
> 
> I'm @bibliothesoph on Tumblr! Come scream at me or something. 
> 
> As you wish! <3

Without even a moment of contemplation, Henry launched himself down the rocky hill as well to join his love at the bottom. As they both rolled down the hill groaning in pain whenever they hit a particularly bumpy part of the terrain, Henry could not help but smile. The pain, it seemed was not stronger than the newfound love and hope in his heart. It swirled through his veins and filled him with a warmth had had not felt in so long for, in just a few moments, he would be reunited with the love of his life.

While rolling, the man in black’s mask fell off and laid discarded behind him upon the hillside.

The Queen and her men, who had formerly had eyes on the two of them, were troubled to see that they had seemingly disappeared behind the hill.

“Disappeared,” Philip remarked from his horse, keeping his eyes firmly on the outlines of hills in front of him. “He must have seen us closing in, which might account for his panicking and error. Unless I am wrong, and I am never wrong, they are headed dead into the Fire Swamp.”

Fearful of what that entailed for the Prince, the Queen kicked her horse and urged it forward.

At the bottom of the hill, the man in black, now coming to, looked over and saw Henry splayed on his back. For a moment he feared that Henry had not taken the fall as well as he and that he might have been injured or, worse, dead. Quickly, he crawled over to the handsome Prince, wrapping an arm around his familiar waist. Oh, how his hands had ached to defamiliarize themselves with Henry’s body over the past few years. As he looked down upon Henry’s familiar features––though now darkened with grief and pain as he could see from so near––he fought the urge to cry. For when he looked down and saw his handsome Prince, the Prince’s oh-so blue eyes stared back up at him, wide and hopeful and so full of love.

The man, Alex as it was now known, snaked his other arm around Henry’s head, lifting it to check for signs of damage. Their lips were no more than a breath away from each other’s––the closest they had been in so long. For years, Alex had only dreamt of those lips. Dreamt of Henry’s eyes and smooth, nimble fingers and sandy hair. Every small, to others insignificant, detail about his lover was pressed into Alex’s mind like a wax seal. It had been five years of recalling Henry’s voice and body and mind in nothing but his dreams during odd hours of the night––dreams that woke up for he could often still feel the phantom touch of his love upon his body.

“Can you move?” he asked in a deep whisper, unwilling to break the delicate moment between them as he studied Henry’s gorgeous face, completely unwilling to look away longer than needed to blink.

“Move?” Henry repeated, sounding like he was in a haze. “You’re _alive_.”

Alex chuckled and moved a stray hair off of Henry’s forehead for the sole purpose of running his fingers through the blond hair he had missed so dearly in their time apart.

“If you want, I can fly,” Henry marveled in a daze.

With tears pricking his eyes, Alex closed the distance between them.

It was not a perfect kiss by any means. It was a desperate, sloppy sort of thing with clanking teeth and wet eyes, but it was perfect in its own right because it was Henry and Alex together once more. It was an ending to the five years of suffering they had each endured while torn apart from one another. It was “I love you” and “I missed you” in a chaotic mess of mouths and tongues and teeth. But it was beautiful and neither one of them would have traded it for anything else in the world.

When they pulled back from each other, the need to breathe only just surpassing the need for each other’s lips, Henry smiled and tangled his fingers in familiar chocolate curls he had given up hope of feeling through his fingers again. “You’ve got a beard,” he remarked, kissing it.

Alex smiled at him. “Mm, I do, don’t I?”

Henry laughed wetly and reached up to kiss him again.

“I told you I would always come for you, didn’t I? Why didn’t you wait for me?”

With a red-tipped nose and wet eyes, Henry looked up at him and took in all of the features he had missed so dearly. “Well, you were dead.”

Alex shook his head, ever willing to fight. “Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.”

“I will never doubt again,” Henry promised.

“There will never be a need,” Alex swore.

Their lips found each other again. They were quick to melt back into the movement of it––to get lost in the rhythm of their bodies as they fumbled to hold each other closer. It had been far too long since they had last kissed like this, even though it had only been a minute or two. Privately, like a prayer, they each vowed to never go so long without the other again.

When Henry started to reach below the waistband of Alex’s trousers, Alex shook his head and pulled away. “I want to,” he told him, kissing his forehead, “but not yet. Your Queen is still after us––we have to get away from here.”

Perturbed but understanding, Henry nodded and allowed Alex to help him to his feet. Though he allowed Alex to lead him across the ravine floor, he did not dare to let go of his hand. It was a wonderful hand––calloused and imperfect and capable of many dirty things.

At the top of the ravine, upon the hill, the outlines of horses and men came into view.

“They’re too late,” Alex told Henry to reassure him. “A few more steps and we’ll be safe in the Fire Swamp.”

Henry could not help but roll his eyes at his love’s peculiar attitude and optimism. “We’ll never survive,” he argued, having heard many unfavorable things about the Fire Swamp.

“Nonsense,” Alex huffed, pulling him along and towards the line of tall, menacing trees close by. “You’re only saying that because no one ever has.”

With a nervous laugh, Henry tugged Alex’s hand, making him turn. Swiftly, Henry placed a kiss onto his lips. “I love you,” he told him, quite certain it might have been one of the last chances he would ever have to do so.

“You’re only saying that because we’re about to go in there,” Alex said with a furrowed brow.

Henry smoothed it out with his fingertips, noting the way Alex’s eyes closed and he nuzzled up into the touch. “I say it because it’s true. And well, yes. I’m perhaps a bit wary of what may lie ahead.”

“Do not worry, my sweet Prince,” Alex told him, kissing his forehead where hair met skin. “I’ll protect you.”


	8. Eight

As suspected, the Fire Swamp was a terrifying place. It was the sort of place one would go if they wished certain death upon either themselves or another, so Henry was a bit nervous that Alex was not quite over his engagement to Princess Madeline when he brought Henry to this dreadful place. It was dark and damp in the Fire Swamp, contrary to what its name might have otherwise suggested. Snake-like vines hung low between the trees and everything was covered a dark, eerie moss.

Terrified, Henry clung to Alex’s strong bicep for dear life. Though Alex had always been strong because of the many laboring chores Henry had demanded of him, he was stronger now. It made Henry wonder what traumas Alex had endured during their time apart.

A broken scream of some creature or another in the distance made Henry jump and clutch his love’s arm even tighter.

“It’s not that bad,” Alex commented, looking terrified. Henry knew him too well now to play into his games. He knew Alex’s emotions like the back of his own hand.

Henry stared at him, disbelieving.

Alex chuckled nervously and wrapped an arm around Henry’s waist. It was unclear if it was to reassure Henry that he was there or if it was for Alex’s own comfort. “I’m not saying I’d like to build a summer home here or anything, but the trees are actually quite…lovely?”

Henry rolled his eyes and kissed Alex’s scruffy cheek.

Alex moved them forward through the swamp, careful to mind his footing on the uncertain terrain.

A sputtering sound gave them both pause, but as it went away after a moment, they continued walking and did not think much of it. The dismissal of the sound proved almost fatal as a spurt of fire spewed out from the floor, catching Henry’s clothing on fire. He screamed in both pain and terror at the sight and feeling of the orange flames upon him. Alex was quick to act and set Henry down upon a stump. Putting the fire out did not take long, but Henry was left shuddering and terrified to venture any further. Alex pulled Henry to his feet and brought him close, rubbing calming circles on his back.

With his head resting upon Alex’s shoulder, Henry tried to regain control of his breaths.

“Well, that was an adventure,” Alex laughed. “Singed a bit, were you?”

Henry looked down at the leg of his trousers that had caught fire and saw that the fire had not even gone through the expensive material. It had been hot, yes, but not nearly hot or violent enough to actually burn him. Must have been a trick of his mind, then. He shook his head. “You?” 

Alex shook his head and, with one arm wrapped around Henry’s waist, proceeded to lead them deeper into the vile place. With the next sputter, Alex effortlessly lifted Henry and brought him to his other side as another spew of fire jutted out from the depths of the damp earth.

“Well, I gotta say that the Fire Swamp does a good job of keeping you on your toes,” Alex remarked.

As they ventured deeper, Alex unsheathed his sword to start slicing away at the loose vines and branches that obscured the vague path ahead. Though Henry did not say so aloud, the sight of Alex with a blade in his hand, swiftly cutting through the dangerous foliage like it was nothing, made him feel incredibly flustered and desperate to take Alex to bed. How could it be that the simple, feisty farm boy he met and loved all those years ago turned into such a brave, precise man? If it had not been for all of the pain or suffering they had endured without each other, Henry might have thought that these years had almost been good for Alex. He had always been a confident fellow with a teasing smile and bright eyes, but now he was more refined. Dangerous. It was as if all of the things he had loved so much about his farm boy had been amplified and streamlined into a more precise man––a man who was good with his sword in more ways than one and now laughed in the face of danger. Needless to say, Henry was itching to finally leave the horrors of the Fire Swamp and find some suitable place or another to get reacquainted with him.

“This will all soon be nothing but a happy memory,” Alex assured his Prince, slashing away at the branches and vines. “Roberts’ ship is anchored at the far end, and I, as you now know, am Roberts.”

Henry scrunched his nose. “How is that possible? He’s been marauding the seas for nearly twenty years now. And you––” he paused for a moment, unable to continue until he felt Alex’s sure hand around his waist. His lifeline. “You only left me five years ago.”

Alex stopped walking and turned to face him, his eyes wide and earnest. “Sweetheart,” he cooed, stroking Henry’s jaw, “I never left you. Even if I had died, I never would have left you. Don’t you know that?”

Henry smiled softly and held firmly onto Alex’s hand, closing his eyes for a moment and allowing himself to feel his soothing touch upon his face. “I do.”

They began walking again. “I’m often surprised by life’s little quirks,” Alex sighed.

Another sputtering noise suddenly appeared and Alex, being the brave and attentive man that he was, quickly moved Henry out of its way.

“See, what I told you before about saying ‘please’ was true. You were the only thing I had to live for. It intrigued Roberts, I think, as did my never-ending description of your beauty.”

A blush crept onto Henry’s cheeks.

“Finally, Roberts decided something. He told me, ‘All right, Alex. I’ve never had a valet, but you can try it for the night. I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.’”

The thought made Henry shudder so he latched more firmly onto Alex, pulling him closer as they walked.

“ _Three years_ he said that, you know. ‘Good night, Alex, sleep well. I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.’ And I always believed it. I thought each day would be my last and that I would never be able to find my way back to you.”

“How did you live like that?” Henry could not help but ask. “How did you survive thinking that each day might be your last?” It was impossible for the Prince to imagine himself in Alex’s situation. Being apart from his love without the constant threat of death had already been hard enough.

“It wasn’t all that bad, really,” Alex explained. “Every day I learned fencing and all sorts of things. Anything anyone would teach me, really. I figured that if I kept myself busy, I would be fine.”

A smile spread over the Prince’s face at the words and how they rang true. It was a curse of his, he used to think, that Alex was so prone to overworking himself. If only he had known what a skill it would become.

“Roberts and I became friends, eventually. And then it happened.”

“What did?” Henry inquired, stepping over a large branch that stood two feet off the ground.

“Roberts had grown so rich that he wanted to retire, so he took me to his cabin and told me a secret.” In one swift motion, Alex lifted Henry off the ground and carried him bridal-style, fearful that Henry would not be quick enough to avoid another spurt of fire. “‘I am not the Dread Pirate Roberts,’ he told me. ‘My name is Rafael. I inherited the ship from the previous Dread Pirate Roberts, just as you will inherit it from me. The real Dread Pirate Roberts has been retired fifteen years and living like a king in Patagonia.’ Then he told me that the _name_ was the important thing for inspiring fear. No one would surrender to the Dread Pirate Alex, right?”

Alex set Henry down, now feeling that the terrain was suitably flat enough for him to manage on his own. But Henry already missed the closeness they had just shared.

“So, we sailed ashore, took on an entirely new crew, and he stayed aboard for a while as first mate. And he called me Roberts. Once the crew believed, he left the ship, and I’ve been Roberts ever since.” He paused and wrapped his arms around Henry’s shoulders. “Except, now that we’re together, I’ll have to find someone else.”

Henry smiled and kissed him softly.

“Is everything clear to you?”

Henry chuckled as they pulled apart. “Well, all except one thing,” he said, beginning to walk away. “How would anyone come to fear a pirate so shor––”

With a yelp, the Prince found himself quickly swallowed up by a patch of sandy ground. It took him completely, pulling him deep into the earth and keep him prisoner there. It happened so quickly that Alex did not even process it at first. After a moment, when his Prince had very clearly disappeared, he sprang into action. With a dramatic slash of his sword, he cut through a branch to use as a makeshift rope. Sucking in a breath, he jumped into the sandpit. They had just returned to each other and Alex refused to lose his love for something as trivial as deadly quicksand.

The swamp was eerily quiet as they both found themselves in the sand. It was as if the swamp held its breath as it waited to see what would come of them.

A moment later, they emerged from the pit. Each taking deep breaths and with sand covering them, Alex pulled them out and onto solid ground. It took a minute for them each to collect themselves and get enough air in their lungs to think properly, but as soon as they did, Henry crawled to a nearby tree and propped himself up against it. Alex was soon to follow, practically throwing himself on top of Henry and holding him close.

Over Henry’s shoulder, Alex made eye contact with the beady eyes of a furry beast with jagged teeth and a slick snout. He paid it no mind, though, for he was more interested in holding Henry close to himself to reassure them both that they had just survived that nightmare. Against him, Henry cried and shuddered.

“We’ll never succeed,” Henry sobbed. “We may as well die here.”

Pulling away to soothe his love, Alex shook his head and rested their forehead together. “No, no. We have already succeeded, baby,” he assured him. He pulled Henry up to his feet and retrieved his discarded sword. “I mean, what are the three terrors of the Fire Swamp? One, the flame spurt. No problem.” He started to move them deeper into the forest, knowing that they were almost done with this nightmare. “There’s that popping sound before each one so we can avoid that. Two, the lightning sand, but you were clever enough to figure that one out. So we can now avoid that, too.”

Shaking his head, Henry grabbed onto Alex’s shoulder, making him pause. “Alex, what about the R.O.U.S.s?”

Alex scoffed. “Rodents of Unusual Size? I don’t think they exist.”

As he said those words, a beast lunged for him. The weight of the rat-like creature brought him to the ground forcefully, making him lose his sword in the fall. Henry screamed but found himself unable to do much but watch as Alex fumbled with the creature, using his hands to try and keep its sharp, crooked teeth from impaling his flesh. Though he did possess great strength, his energy had already been severely depleted from the previous misfortunes they had stumbled across, so he did not hold the beast back for long. It attached itself to his forearm first, tearing at the skin there. He cried out in pain for the bite was strong and deep in his arm and was sure to leave scars if it even healed properly.

Eyes wide in horror, Henry watched his love wrestle with the nefarious creature. There was nothing he could do to help, though, for he had no skill with such combat.

Alex punched the beast and used the slim opportunity to reach for his sword, but the creature was quick to regain itself and lunged for him once again before he could get the blade into his hand. This time, he was able to pin the beast to the floor and then roll it aside, giving himself ample time to collect his sword.

Unfortunately, the beast turned its attention to Henry who stood paralyzed in its vengeful path. “Alex!” he cried, sure that he was about to be mauled by the vile thing.

Alex threw himself on top of the beast, neglecting his sword for the moment. Henry picked up a large branch and started to beat the creature’s head with it, but the attack did nothing but provoke it. It got gold of his trouser leg and forced him on his back where he had no choice but to attempt to dodge the creature’s bite. Seeing Henry’s peril, Alex leapt in front of Henry, taking the full brunt of the beast for himself to give Henry time to get to his feet. The beast bit his shoulder, tearing off the skin there. It made Alex cry out again for the teeth were so vulgar and sharp that it made him feel like he was being poisoned.

A sputtering sound gave Alex an idea. Carefully, he rolled the beast over and watched as the fire jumped out of the earth, singing the creature. He picked up his sword and stabbed the creature, just to ensure that it was truly dead.

As soon as it was dead, Henry rushed over to him with tears in his eyes for he had never seen his farm boy so injured or weak. “You’re hurt,” Henry said, surveying his wounds.

“I’m fine,” Alex tried to assure him, collapsing a bit. Henry caught him and wrapped his arm around Alex’s waist, holding him upright.

“Will you be okay until we can find a healer?”

Alex nodded.

So they left the perils of the Fire Swamp and, once the light grew more abundant and the trees thinner, they knew they were free of it.

“We did it,” Henry said, breathless. In front of them was a lake and Henry eyed it longingly, knowing that it would be an opportune place for both washing up and for reuniting himself fully with his love.

“Was that so terrible?” Alex joked.

Rolling his eyes at him, Henry kissed his cheek. “You’re an idiot. You nearly got yourself _killed_. Of course, it was terrible.”

“Haven’t you learned that I am unkillable?”

He leaned down to connect their lips once more, but the sound of horses approaching pulled them apart. Alex instantly pushed Henry behind him to protect him from whichever new threat challenged them, but Henry knew exactly who it was.


	9. Nine

It was the Queen and her men, here to save him. A few hours ago, the sight of them would have pleased and relieved him, but now it only made him fearful of what they might do to his love.

“Surrender,” the Queen commanded.

“You mean, you wish to surrender to me?” Alex challenged, a smirk on his face. “Very well, I accept.”

“I give you full marks for bravery,” Philip said from the Queen’s side, “but do not make yourself a fool.”

“How will you capture us? We know the secrets of the Fire Swamp. We could live there quite happily for some time, so whenever you feel like dying, feel free to visit.”

A rustling of leaves gave the men with crossbows away, for Henry’s eyes traveled to them closing in on Alex instantly. It was true that Henry only had eyes for his farm boy––for his Dread Pirate Roberts––and would always know when he was in trouble. It was something in his bones, perhaps. Something that burned him up from the inside with fear. A sixth sense of sorts. And he would do anything in his power to protect his farm boy for he had already lost him once and did not plan on losing him again.

“I will tell you once again,” the Queen said. “Surrender.”

“Never going to happen,” Alex scoffed.

The men drew their crossbows, pointing them at Alex. It made Henry’s breath hitch in his throat to imagine Alex dying just as they survived such terrible things and finally found each other.

“Surrender!” Philip ordered, drawing his sword.

“Death first,” Alex spat, eyes ablaze.

Though Henry appreciated Alex’s spirit, he could not bear to watch him die. “Will you promise not to hurt him?” he asked.

Everyone paused and looked at him, utterly confused.

“What was that?” the Queen asked with a half-gone eyebrow raised.

Alex turned to him, too. “Yeah, what?”

Henry stepped forward, giving Alex’s hand a squeeze before letting it go entirely. “If we surrender, and I return with you, will you promise not to hurt this man?”

The Queen stared at him for a moment, baffled, before straightening her posture. “I swear,” she vowed.

Henry felt Alex’s eyes upon him––curious and large and terrified––but he paid him no mind. Oh, how he longed to just escape with him––to run off somewhere far away where no one would disturb them. How he longed to run his fingers along the insides of Alex’s smooth thighs once more to coax tremors and moans out of him like he had done so many times in what now felt like a life from long ago. But he was not permitted to live this fantasy with Alex. And it broke his heart to realize that.

“He is a sailor on the ship Revenge,” Henry explained. “Promise to return him to his ship.”

“I swear it will be done,” the Queen agreed, seemingly growing impatient now. The Queen nodded to her men to collect Henry and Alex, turning briefly to Philip in a hushed voice. “Once we are out of sight, take him back to Florin and have him thrown in the Pit of Despair.”

Philip nodded, eager to finally use his magnificent device once more. It had been so long since he had properly tortured someone.

While the Queen and Philip spoke and as the guards closed in around them, Henry finally turned to face Alex. With all the strength he could muster, he forced his tears down and tried to keep his voice steady and strong.

“I thought you were dead once,” Henry told him.

Alex nodded and wrapped his arms around Henry’s waist, pulling him closer.

“It almost destroyed me. I could not bear it if you died again, not when I could save you. I love you, Alex. I will not stand idly by and see you hurt.”

Alex opened his mouth slightly and moved in closer, desperate to once more put his lips upon Henry’s for he feared it would be the last time he would be able to do so. Just as they felt each other’s breath upon their lips, a horse trotted by and Henry was swept up onto it and out of Alex’s grasp.

Though Alex had experienced his own sense of loss when he was taken under the wing of the pirates, he never felt it quite like this. In his mind, he had lost Henry back then for he thought he would never be able to return. It was not as if he thought Henry dead or in any sort of danger––Alex was, after all, the one who had left. The one for whom Henry grieved. Though he did not think Henry dead, he felt that familiar absence take up residence in his heart once more. This time, though, Henry had been taken before his very eyes. An arm’s length away––closer––and yet, Alex was still helpless to save him. With all of the training and the long nights he pulled on that ship in an effort to learn everything he could, none of it proved useful. None of it helped him save the one person he would fight a thousand years just to see again.

As he watched Henry ride away on the back of another man's horse––just as he and Henry had once ridden through the fields––he found himself whispering in hopes that Henry could, by some miracle, hear him. "As you wish."

“Come, sir,” Philip demanded. It snapped Alex’s eyes away from Henry’s disappearing body as he rode off with the Queen and her men. “We must get you to your ship.”

Alex walked forward as the men with crossbows urged him towards Philip on his horse. Oddly enough, he had a smug smile on his face. It was, perhaps, grim given the circumstances. “We are men of action,” he told Philip, looking up at him. “Lies do not become us.”

It was impossible that Philip would simply return Alex to his ship as he claimed he would. Through his adventures with the pirates, Alex had learned about people and, more specifically, men like Philip. Men without a shred of honor or truth to their empty words and gestures. Men who did not think––men who simply did as they were told. It was possible that, in some twisted way, he felt bad for Philip. Clearly the man had no volition of his own and was, sadly, happy to just play lapdog to the Queen. The thought of living such a dreadful and dull life made Alex’s stomach grow sour.

“Well said, sir,” Philip commented. With a nod to the men behind Alex, the guards began to bind Alex’s wrists together so he could no longer even hope to escape. As they grabbed him, Alex caught sight of one of the more peculiar things he had seen that day: six fingers on Philip’s right hand.

Philip, noticing Alex’s pointed stare, raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“You have six fingers on your right hand,” Alex chuckled. “Someone’s looking for you.”

Outraged by Alex’s words, Philip unsheathed his sword and swiftly knocked Alex out with the blunt end of it, sending him to the leafy floor of the outskirts of the Fire Swamp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is short but uhhh since Alex is unconscious and the next scene is the pit of despair, i thought it was best to end it here!
> 
> As always, I'm @bibliothesoph on Tumblr 
> 
> as you wish, my lovely readers!


	10. Ten

In a dark pit beneath the old hickory tree in the forest surrounding the citadel, a secret knob permitted the entrance to an underground dwelling. It was a vile place that had been dug into the earth and permanently rooted there for one purpose: torture. Though the pit had been, for the most part, empty, it now found itself with a visitor. Though the engineer of the great machine within its stony walls and his helper often journeyed down to its depths to visit for an hour or two, they had not seen the presence of another living creature there in so long. To them, it was known as the Pit of Despair––a place truly harrowing to everyone that passed through. In its caverns, it held a device made by man to take life away from those who visited. In essence, it was a place of great pain and, on occasion, death.

The helper––half man, half giant––walked down the stone steps from the forest floor and into the depths of the pit with a tray in hand. He was a man on a mission, tasked with helping their most recent visitor return to full strength and health. The visitor, a man many knew as the Dread Pirate Roberts, laid unconscious on the wooden table. His wrists were bound together and his shirt was removed for ease. Carefully, as to not cause him further injury, the helper began to clean the man’s wounds with a cloth and a bowl of freshwater from the stream.

It was while the helper cleaned the wounds that the man woke up, his brown eyes wide as they took in the strange surroundings. “Where am I?” he groaned, an ache in his head causing him a great deal of pain as he came to.

“The Pit of Despair,” the helper told him in a hoarse voice. “Don’t even think––” he cleared his throat, “don’t even think about trying to escape. The chains are far too thick. And don’t start dreamin’ about being rescued, either. The only way in is secret. Only the Queen, the Count, and I know how to get in and out.”

Alex stared blankly at him for a moment, wondering if Henry would even come to rescue him, given the chance. He loved Henry for the man he was––kind, good, beautiful, smart, witty, layered––but Henry was not known for physical feats. He was brave, of course, in his own right with a good and determined head on his shoulders, but he had never used a sword a day in his life. Maybe, if Alex found a way to escape, he would find his way back to Henry and the two of them could run away together and cook and fence and ride horses. It would be such a wonderful life, he thought. A life with Henry, no matter how small, was more than he could ever have hoped for or dreamed of.

“Then I’m here till I die?” he wondered aloud.

The helper stopped his blotting of the wound and looked down at Alex, frowning. “Till they kill you, yeah. ‘Fraid so.”

“Then why bother healing me? If they’re just gonna kill me anyway?”

The helper shrugged. “The Queen and the Count always insist on everyone being healthy before they’re broken.”

Alex raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, so it’s going to be torture?” For a moment, he thought back to all of those long nights on the ship where the pirates beat him to a pulp––where they forced poison down his throat. It was not that he had any sort of information to offer them, though. It was for sport––for the entertainment and thrill of it all. And, for Rafael, it was to build his strength and make him virtually unbeatable. Physically, that is. Always just physically. No one ever spoke about the mental repercussions of such violence and trauma––how things would hurt his mind and rile his nightmares. “I can deal with torture.”

The helper shook his head.

“You don’t believe me?”

With a sigh, the helper shrugged and returned to blotting the wounds. “You survived the Fire Swamp, so you must be very brave. But nobody withstands the machine.”

With those parting words, the helper left to seek more water for the water in the bowl had long since turned red with Alex’s blood.

Across the forest and within the great castle of Florin, the Prince wandered the halls with his head hung low. It was not as if he found himself in any immediate danger, but he knew that there was something wrong. Perhaps he felt such feelings of fear for Alex and what might have become of him. Perhaps the thought of Alex sailing away––leaving him forever––was the cause of this rock of guilt and fear now rooted deep within him.

“He’s been like that ever since the Fire Swamp,” the Queen told the Count, both of them watching as Henry hobbled by with a truly morose expression on his normally beautiful face. “It’s my illness that’s upsetting him,” she proclaimed.

The Count stared at his Queen for a moment and nodded. “Of course.”

The Queen died that very night and, before the following dawn, Henry and Madeline were married. And at noon, he met her subjects again, this time as their King. From the roof of the castle, the Count and Madeline––the Queen, now––addressed their people for the first time without the guidance of Queen Mary. The new Queen, dressed in her finest dress and with the crown set upon her head, looked out upon her people and wished nothing but to ease their worried minds.

“My mother’s final words were, ‘love him as I loved him, and there will be joy.’ I present to you, your King: King Henry.” Taking a shaky breath, she gestured towards the opposite end of the courtyard where Henry stood, hidden behind a doorframe obscured in thick, beautiful linens. The people, her people, turned to the doorway, anxious to set eyes upon their King.

As was customary in such ceremonies, trumpets began to play as Henry emerged from the curtains and took his first step not only into the blinding sun, but as King. As he walked in his own special garb––a white suit which had been tailored to fit him to perfection and the crown upon his blond hair––the people bowed for him. For a moment, he allowed himself to look upon his subjects and realize that this would, in fact, be his life now. Alex had not saved him and he had married into this as he had once promised to do when his heart was barren and ice cold with grief.

From the crowd, something shouted at him. “Boo,” they hissed.

With frantic eyes, he searched for the offender amongst his people.

“Boo!”

As he reached the end of the red carpet laid out before him, he saw the woman––an old hag with a wart on her nose and dressed in dark, tattered robes. She continued to shout at him, even as he frowned at her.

“Why do you do this?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because you had love in your hands and you gave it up!”

A knife-like pain struck Henry’s heart at the words. He stuck his chin out in defiance, sure that his actions had been for the best. “They would have killed Alex if I hadn’t done it,” he explained.

The hag pointed at him accusingly. “Your true love lives, and you marry another!” The hag turned to the crowd, her arms wide as if to embrace them all. “True love saved him in the Fire Swamp and he treated it like it was garbage. He did what he always did––he ran away! And that’s what he is, the King of cowardliness. So, bow down to him if you want, bow to him. Bow to the King of slime, the King of filth, the King of putrescence! Boo! Boo! Rubbish, slime, filth, coward! Boo! Boo!”

With the hag’s eyes staring into his own, Henry took a shuttered breath and felt tears fill his eyes. It was not because she yelled at him in such a manner––it was because every word of hers rang true. When he left Alex, he cemented his destiny. He was, as he had always known, a coward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'm @bibliothesoph on tumblr!


	11. Eleven

Henry woke with a start, his breathing uneven and his heart racing.

It was ten days until the wedding. The Queen still lived, but Henry’s nightmares were growing steadily worse.

Henry leaped out of bed and dawned a cloak, somehow both sweaty and freezing at the same time. He raced out of his room and down the familiar hallways, straight to the Queen’s office. When he got in there, she was seated at her desk petting one of her dogs, looking bored and tired. Count Philip stood by the fireplace, but Henry paid him no mind.

“It comes to this,” Henry told her. “I love Alex. I always have and I always will.” He took a few steps forward. “If you tell me that I must marry your daughter in just ten days time, then I must tell you that I will be dead by morning. I’ve lost him twice now and I do not plan on losing him again.”

The Queen looked up at him with dull eyes. “I could never cause you grief,” she sighed, pushing a map aside. “Consider the wedding off.”

Henry was greatly surprised by this response, for he had expected to have to put up a fight. He had come in here prepared to fight tooth and nail for his love, and yet it was so easy to make the Queen see sense. Maybe she was not as heartless as he first believed.

“You returned this Alex to his ship?” she asked, standing and moving towards Count Philip.

“Yes,” the Count said.

“Then we shall simply alert him. But are you certain that he still wants you? After all, it was you who did the leaving in the Fire Swamp. Not to mention that pirates are not known for being men of their word.”

Henry did not even have to think about it. If there was one thing he knew, it was that the love that he and Alex shared was greater than any force on this earth. It was a magic of its own, something pure and true and real. They had spent so long dancing around each other just for Henry to only have Alex briefly before losing him. And he refused to just have gotten him back, for less than a day, only to lose him once more. He and Alex would always find their way back to each other––that much he was sure of.

“My Alex will always come for me,” Henry told him, sticking his chin out.

The Queen sighed and paced for a moment, clearly unsure of what to do. “Might I suggest a deal? A compromise, if you will? You shall write four copies of a letter. I’ll send my four fastest ships, one in each direction. Everyone knows that the Dread Pirate Roberts is always near Florin in this time of year, so we’ll run up the white flag and deliver your message.”

Henry nodded in agreement, knowing that Alex would receive the message and come for him instantly.

“If Alex wants you, bless you both. But, if he does not, consider Madeline a suitable alternative to suicide, hm? Are we agreed?”

“Yes,” Henry said.

The Queen smiled and excused both herself and the Count, eager to get back to other business that needed tending to. Henry left them to it, choosing to go find David instead of hanging around in the empty room.

The Queen and the Count rode to the forest where the Pit of Despair sat, both eager to check in on Alex. They tied their horses a good deal away from the tree, not willing to take any chances of being discovered. They walked the familiar forest to the tree from there, speaking about their plans along their way.

“The Prince is really quite a winning creature,” Philip told the Queen as they walked. “Simple, perhaps, but his appeal is undeniable.”

“I know,” the Queen laughed. “The people are quite taken with him, aren’t they? It’s odd, but when I hired Richards to have him killed on their engagement day, I thought that was clever.”

“But it will be so much better when I kill him on his wedding night,” Philip agreed.

The Queen nodded in agreement. “Once Guilder is blamed, the nation will be truly outraged. They’ll demand we go to war.”

The Count laughed and turned to try and find the secret knot, always having problems with locating it. After pushing on various knots upon the tree for a moment, he found the right one and the door swung open. “Are you coming down to the pit? Alex has gotten his strength back so I’m using the machine with him tonight.”

“Philip,” the Queen sighed, stepping towards him. “You know how much I adore watching you work, but I’m afraid I’m terribly busy. I have my country’s five-hundredth anniversary to plan, a wedding to arrange, Henry to murder, and Guilder to frame for it. I’m positively swamped.”

Philip frowned but understood that, yes, the Queen was rather busy. It was such a shame, though, for he loved it when she came to watch him work. It made him feel special and important. “Get some rest,” Philip advised. “If you haven’t got your health, you haven’t got anything.”

Philip walked down the steps into the Pit of Despair, eager to prepare Alex for the machine. The helper prepared Alex while Philip was at the castle, so everything was ready when he arrived. Alex was hooked up to the suction cups and strapped onto the gurney when Philip sat at his table and took out his notebook, eager to record whatever responses were about to happen. It had been so long since he had properly tortured someone like this, so he was thrilled to have this chance.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked, looking up at the machine. “Took me half my life to build it. I’m sure you’ve already discovered that I have an interest in pain. Right now, I’m writing an entire book on the subject. The definitive guide to pain and torture. So, if you wouldn’t mind, please be completely honest with me about what you’re feeling. Since this is your first go, I’ll use the lowest setting.”

He stood and made his way over to the wooden lever, pushing it up until it lined up with the lowest setting on the machine. Nothing happened for a moment as the machine started up, the long process beginning. As soon as the gears started turning, Alex jerked and groaned in pain. Philip observed him for a moment, delighted to see the pain in his eyes and across his face. He turned it off when it looked like Alex was going to pass out, for Alex was of no use to his work if he was unconscious.

Once the machine was powered off, the Count returned to his desk and started jotting things down in his notebook. “As you know, the concept of suction pumps is centuries old. Really, that’s all this is. But instead of sucking water, I’m sucking life. I just sucked an entire year of your life away. One day, I might even go as high as five, though I doubt you could even stand that.” He paused and looked at Alex’s shaking form for a moment, noting how he trembled. “Now, tell me honestly. How did that make you feel?”

It was the worst physical pain Alex had ever felt in his entire life. Worse than anything he endured on the ship and beyond, nearly as worse as the heartbreak he suffered when he was away from Henry for so long. The amount of pain coursing through his veins made him unable to speak, except in garbled whines. The Count was seemingly pleased by his response, though, for he wrote it down in his book before having the helper wheel Alex off to get hydrated and strong enough to endure another round the next day.

Alex did not think he would survive this. He would try, though. For Henry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'm @bibliothesoph on tumblr!


	12. Twelve

Later that night, the Queen summoned one of her men, Basil, to her office. He knelt before her, ever dutiful, and waited to hear what she required of him. He was good to her in that way––never asked too many questions, always obedient. Like a well-trained dog.

“As Chief Enforcer of all Florin, I trust you with this secret,” she told him. “Killers from Guilder are infiltrating the Theives’ Forest and plan to murder the Prince on his wedding night.”

Basil’s eyes widened at the mention of it, for he was not in on her plan to kill Henry. It was a secret known to only two––herself and Philip. No one else was to be trusted with such a secret or a plan so devious.

“My spy network has heard nothing of this,” Basil said, paling.

The Queen waved her hand, cutting him off and forgiving him and his spy network for not knowing of this. She opened her wrinkled mouth to tell Basil of her plan to resolve this so-called issue when someone else entered her office without permission.

“Any word from Alex?”

She looked up and saw Henry stood before her. This was not the sort of distraction she could afford right now.

“I’m afraid it’s too soon,” she said with a smile, hoping to ease his mind and silence him for now. “Have patience, Henry.”

Henry did not take being told to have patience well. His face grew sour at the words, clearly appalled that his precious Alex had not made a spectacle of coming to save him. “He will come for me,” Henry argued, his chin out in defiance.

The Queen took a deep breath to calm herself. “Of course.”

Seemingly satisfied, Henry nodded and turned on his heel, promptly leaving the room as quickly as he had entered it. When his footsteps could no longer be heard on the stone, the Queen turned once more to Basil.

“He will not be murdered,” she warned. “So, on the day of the wedding, you will empty the entirety of the Thieves’ Forest. You shall also arrest every inhabitant of that vile place, just to further ensure Henry’s safety.”

Basil sighed. “The thieves will resist, Your Highness. They’re not exactly good people.”

“Form a Brute Squad, then,” the Queen advised. “Use as many men as needed to expel them from the forest.”

“It won’t be easy,” Basil sighed, clearly not thrilled about how much work he was going to have to put into this.

“Try ruling the world sometime,” the Queen snapped.

The day of the wedding arrived. The Brute Squad had their hands full carrying out the Queen’s demands to have the entirety of Thieves’ Forest emptied by sunset when Princess Madeline would wed Prince Henry. The citizens were locked up and shoved into makeshift holding cells on the backs of horses, each cage holding up to twenty of them at once. It was cramped and crowded and their cries could be heard from within the citadel.

As Basil led a carriage full of now-imprisoned thieves to the dungeons, one of his men strode up beside him on the wooden bridge out of the forest. “Is everyone out?” he asked.

The man shook his head, sporting a nasty gash on his face. “Not quite. There’s one man, a swordsman, giving us trouble.”

“Well, you give _him_ some trouble,” Basil instructed, fearing what might happen to him if he did not get the entire forest cleared as instructed.

The man nodded, eager to please.

Deep within the forest, the swordsman sat outside of a run-down cottage with a bottle of brandy in hand. He was drunk off his ass and angry at the entire world for his shortcomings.

“I am waiting for you, Richards,” he told the trees around him. He took a swig from his bottle. “You told me to go back to the beginning, so I have. This is where I am, and this is where I’ll stay.” In his other hand, the man held a sword to protect himself from any unwanted visitors. They had been coming all day––the Queen’s men––trying to chase him out of the forest. He had defended himself well against them all, despite his drunkenness. “I will not be moved!”

Another swig of the brandy––another mouthful of liquid courage.

Basil’s man approached him with an axe ready in his hands, eager to get a few swings in to please the Queen. “Ho there!” he shouted as he spotted the swordsman.

Though extremely intoxicated, the swordsman knew that this man sought to remove him from his post. “I will not move,” the swordsman––Pez––told the man, his words slurring. “So keep your ‘ho, there,’ sir.”

“The Queen gave orders,” the man said, raising his axe and ready to strike.

Upon hearing these words, Pez twitched violently and attempted to strike the man down for trying to remove him from his post. “So did Richards!” Pez yelled. “When a job goes wrong, you go back to the beginning.” He smiled at the man, his sword still raised. “Well, this is where I got the job, so it’s the beginning. So I shall stay here until Richards comes.”

The man was horrified by the drunken display before him and, upon spotting another member of the Brute Squad, beckoned him over for reinforcement. “You, Brute, come here!”

Pez paid him no mind. “I am waiting for Richards,” he told the man.

But this supposed member of the Brute Squad was not, in fact, a member at all. It was a pixie––a woman with a good head on her shoulders who used that head to be concerned for her drunken companion.

“Hello,” she said, walking up to the swordsman.

Through his drunken stupor, he almost did not recognize the pixie until he squinted at her face and saw her unmistakable curls come into focus. He smiled at the sight of her. “It’s you,” he beamed.

“True,” she smiled back.

The man, the true member of the Brute Squad, approached them in hopes to apprehend them, but the pixie delivered one well-aimed blow to his head and rendered him unconscious. “You don’t look so good, Pez.”

Pez shrugged and blew air through his mouth in dismissal.

“You don’t smell so good, either,” she said, offended by his foul stench.

“Maybe not,” Pez sighed, “but I _feel_ fine.” As the words left his lips, he fell over.

So Nora and Pez were reunited. And as Nora nursed her inebriated friend back to health, she told him of Richards’ death and the existence of Count Philip––the man Pez had devoted his life to killing. Considering Pez’s life-long search, he handled the news surprisingly well––by promptly falling face-first into the bowl of soup the pixie had prepared for him. She took great care in reviving him until he had had enough of her care.

“Where is this Count Philip now,” Pez questioned, feeling certain that his wits were about him once more, “so I may kill him?”

“He’s with the Queen,” Nora sighed, “in the castle. But I checked it out and the castle gate is guarded by thirty men. There’s no way we could get through.”

Pez kicked an empty liquor barrel in his frustration. “How many could you take on?”

The pixie shrugged. “No more than ten, I’d say.”

Using his subpar math skills, Pez realized that he would have to take down twenty men on his own. “Even at my best, I don’t think I could defeat so many.”

For a moment, all hope was lost. The perfect opportunity for revenge had presented itself and, yet, Pez would not come to manage it. “I need Richards to plan,” he sighed. “I have no gift for strategy. What are our odds of succeeding? Just the two of us?”

“No more than twenty percent, I’d say,” Nora sighed, taking a seat on one of the empty barrels.

Pez groaned. “Wait,” he said, coming to a realization. “We don’t need Richards. We need the Man in Black.”

The pixie’s eyes widened. “What? Are you serious?”

“Yes!” Pez said gleefully, knowing that this man was his only chance. “He bested you with strength. He bested me with steel. He must have outthought Richards! A man who can do that can lead and plan my castle onslaught any day. Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“To find him, obviously!”

Though Pez was already out the door, Nora was uncertain that he would manage it. “We don’t know where he is!”

“Details, Nora, details!”

So off they went in hopes of finding the one man that could pull all of the loose threads together: the Man in Black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i'm @bibliothesoph on tumblr!


	13. Thirteen

The Queen hummed to herself while sharpening her dagger, getting it ready for later that night when she would murder Henry. The thought thrilled her. It was, quite simply, the youngest she had felt in years. Basil dared to interrupt her happy time, entering in a frenzy and standing before her in a bow. She rolled her eyes and set down the dagger, eager to get whatever this was over with.

“Rise and report,” she demanded.

Basil stood and cleared his throat. “The forest is empty,” Basil explained. “And thirty men guard the castle gate.”

“Double it,” she ordered. “The Prince must be safe.”

Basil furrowed his brow. “But the gate has only one key,” he offered, reaching into his tunic and producing a key. “And I have that key.”

The Queen opened her mouth to once again demand more guards outside the gate when Prince Henry himself entered the room. “Ah, Henry,” she said, rising to her feet to greet him. “Tonight, you shall marry my daughter. Tomorrow morning, your men,” she said, directed at Basil, “will escort you two to the Florin Channel, where every ship in my armada awaits to accompany you on your honeymoon.”

Henry furrowed his brow at these words. “Every ship except for your four fastest, you mean.”

Her face fell for she did not know what he meant by such words.

“Every ship but the four you sent for Alex,” Henry reminded her.

In a moment, the false promise returned to her. “Ah, yes. Yes, of course. Naturally not _those_ four.” 

Basil, who always had a good sense of when to leave an awkward situation, cleared his throat and swiftly left the room.

But Henry already knew what was going on here and he felt like a complete idiot for trusting the Queen in the first place. “You never sent the ships,” he realized, shaking his head. “Don’t bother lying.” He took a deep breath and sought to compose himself. “But it doesn’t even matter. Alex will come for me anyway.”

“You’re a stupid boy,” the Queen scoffed.

“Yes,” Henry agreed, his chin out, “I _am_ a stupid boy. For I should have seen sooner that you are nothing but a coward with a heart full of fear!”

The Queen shot murderous eyes at him, not willing to submit herself to this attitude. “I would not say such things if I were you.”

Henry scoffed. “Why not? It’s not like you’re going to hurt me. You need me to marry your precious Madeline. And even if you did try to hurt me, it’s not like you could succeed. Alex and I are joined together by the bonds of love––bonds that cannot be broken. And you cannot track that, not with a thousand bloodhounds. And you cannot break it, not with a thousand swords. And when I say you’re a coward, that is only because you are the slimiest weakling to ever crawl the earth.”

The Queen pounded her fist into the table at such words. She grabbed Henry’s arm and dragged him out of the room. “I would not say such things if I were you!” she hissed, dragging him across the corridor and to his chambers. Once he was inside, she locked the door behind him so he could not escape.

Well, how precious would this Alex be if he were no longer alive? The Queen knew that the only way to break Henry’s spirit entirely was to kill his so-called lover. So she marched herself to the Pit of Despair, hoping that Philip was still there and running this experiment.

When she arrived, she let herself in and went straight to Alex’s bound body on the stretcher. She leaned over him, feeling pleased to have the upper hand now. “You truly love each other, and so you might have been truly happy. Not one couple in a century has that chance, no matter what the fairytales say. And, knowing this, I would think that no man in a century will suffer as greatly as you will today.”

Letting her anger guide her, she moved over to the lever marked with yearly increments––the very lever Count Philip had already used to remove one year from Alex’s life. The Queen looked at Alex once more––at his body tied down to the table and his frantic eyes––and pulled the lever up to the fifty mark.

The Count was on his feet in an instant. “Not to fifty!” he shouted.

No one had used such a violent setting before. There had never been a reason to inflict such pain on someone but now that streak was broken. The deed had been done and the machine whirred to life to carry out its task.

Alex cried out in pain as his body jerked up in hopes to break through its holdings, but the bonds were too tight and held him firmly in place. The sound of his screams––the painful, guttural nature to them––could surely have been heard across the land. It was not just the sound of physical pain, but the sound of heartbreak personified. Even in that moment and through the hazy cloud of anguish, Alex knew that this would kill him. While he often did not have much regard for his own life, he did seek to protect Henry’s at all costs. And this––his death––would break Henry. It would cut his heart into a million jagged pieces that could never be stitched back together.

It was true, as it turned out, that the screams could be heard across the land. Even Henry, still locked away in his chambers, gave pause when he heard the screams. A part of him was familiar with the sound for it had been the sound he had made when Alex was so cruelly taken from him the first time. So he recognized it for what it was: the sound of a broken heart. He bowed his head in a moment of prayer for the man who made such desperate cries, praying that they would soon be well.

It was heard within the walls of the citadel where Nora and Pez wandered around in hopes of finding the Man in Black. It gave them both pause, especially Pez.

“Nora,” he breathed, “listen. Do you hear that? That’s the sound of ultimate suffering.”

Nora furrowed her brow, unsure. “How do you know?”

“It is the same sound my heart made when Count Philip slaughtered my father.” He listened intently for a moment, feeling some sort of connection to the man making such a sound. “The Man in Black makes it now.”

Nora was still not convinced. It was in her nature to doubt such things. “Really? Him?”

Pez nodded, positive that he was right. “His true love is marrying another tonight, so who else would have a reason for ultimate suffering today? It has to be him.” Certain that he was right, Pez started to push his way through the crowd with Nora at his side. If he could follow the sound, he would be able to find the only man that could help bring justice to his father and there was not a chance in hell that he would allow such an opportunity to pass him by.

They lost the sound somewhere in the forest outside the citadel. For a moment, the swordsman was distraught and feared that they had lost their only chance of finding this man. But then an albino man, rolling a wheelbarrow, walked by.

Pez held his blade to the man’s throat. “Where is the Man in Black?” he asked, hoping his tone suggested that he was not in the mood for pleasantries or lies. “He’s nearby, right?”

The man said nothing as his eyes widened, registering the cool metal pressed to his throat.

“Nora, jog his memory.”

The pixie bonked the man on the head with her fist, sending him crashing onto the leafy forest floor. “Sorry, Pez,” she said, shaking her hand out, “I didn’t mean to hit him so hard.”

But Pez was not listening to her apologies. He took a knee on the forest floor, holding his sword in the air. He closed his eyes and thought about his father, praying that his spirit would come and be with him in this moment of need. “Father,” he said to the heavens, “I have failed you for years. But now our misery can end. Somewhere close by is a man who can help us, but I cannot find him alone. Please, father. Please, help me find him. I need your help. If you can hear me, I beg of you to guide my sword and take me to him.”

Moved by heavenly spirits, Pez rose to his feet with his eyes still closed. His sword remained outstretched and in front of him, guiding him to where he needed to go. The spirits moved him across the forest floor until, suddenly, he felt the tip of his blade hit something. He opened his eyes and saw a tree before him at the end of his blade. Frustrated, he groaned and leaned against the tree.

A strange sound occurred as he did so and, when he opened his eyes to inspect the source of the sound, he found a hidden door opening within the trunk of the tree. He could not help but grin for his father had, in fact, been with him in spirit and guided him exactly where he needed to be.

Cautiously, Pez and his companion made their way down the stairs revealed by the hidden door. He would avenge his father’s death, no matter the cost. Of that much he was certain.

What complicated matters, however, was what he saw when he entered the underground dwelling. The Man in Black was there, yes, but strapped to some sort of stretcher. And, when Pez approached him, he found him to be nonresponsive. After checking the man's pulse, he faced a difficult truth.

The Man in Black was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, I'm @bibliothesoph on tumblr!


	14. Fourteen

Pez allowed himself a moment of grief before hew went back into action-mode to try and figure out a solution to this problem. Years ago, he vowed to get justice for his father’s death and he was too close to allow himself to be stopped by something as trivial as death. 

“Let’s go,” he said, moving away from the body of the man that would have been his savior. And, if he played his cards right, _could_ still be that savior. “Bring the body.”

Nora raised an eyebrow. “The body?” 

Pez did not answer her. “Do you have any money?” 

The pixie’s hand instantly found its way to the small satchel attached to her belt where her gold was kept. “A little,” she replied with a shrug. 

Pez sighed. He had no money himself––he had spent it all on brandy. “I just hope we have enough to buy a miracle.” 

They left the Pit of Despair with the body of the Man in Black in the pixie’s strong arms. Within that very forest, there was a small cottage that was separate from the rest of the kingdom. It was the dwelling place of the outsiders––people who had been deemed useless by the Queen over the years. At this point in time, the occupant was a young woman who was once known as a respectable healer who often used magic to cure even the most dire of injuries. Though Pez had never met her personally, he had heard many great things about her over the years, even after she was banished by the Queen for some reason or another.

He knocked on the door of the decrepit cottage, bouncing on his heels as he waited for her to come to the door. 

“Go away!” a voice called from within the walls of the cottage. 

Pez did not relent. He pounded his fist harder against the flimsy door. He knocked it so hard that he thought the door might just fall of its hinges entirely.   
A small window in the door opened from within and, standing in that window, was the most beautiful girl that he had ever seen. She looked similar to the Man in Black in complexion but she was far more graceful. Fit to be a princess, he thought. A true beauty. So beautiful, in fact, that he forgot how to speak for a moment.   
“What?” she asked, glaring at him as she noticed his intense gaze into her eyes. 

He cleared his throat and took a step back to collect himself. “Are––Are you June? The one who worked for the Queen?” 

“She fired me, actually,” the woman huffed. “We’re closed.” 

She attempted to close the window again, but Pez would not let her go so easily. He knocked again, slamming the palms of his hands against the door in frustration. 

She came to the window again. “Leave,” she begged. 

“Please,” Pez begged, “we need a miracle. It’s very important.” 

“Why would you want someone that the Queen fired? I might kill whoever you want this miracle for.”

“He’s already dead,” Pez explained, gesturing to the limp body in black robes in Nora’s arms. 

June looked at him for a moment before sighing and opening the door. 

Pez entered first with Nora and the Man in Black close behind him, closing the door after all three of them had entered. Nora set the Man in Black down on the table in the center of the room, putting him down on his back. 

June came over to look at the body and, as soon as she did, she gasped. “Alex?” 

But Pez did not know the man’s true name. He shrugged in response as June took the man’s face in her hands, pushing his curly hair off of his forehead.

“Do you know him?” Nora asked, her arms folded across her chest. 

“Yes,” June cried, “he’s my brother.” 

Both Pez and Nora were taken aback by her words for, in their minds, the Man in Black was a man above the laws of real life. To them, he was simply a stunning entity––not a real person with a family. But Pez could not doubt June’s confession for he saw the gentle way she touched her brother––the way she cried for his death. Not even the best actress in the kingdom could fake such emotion and heartbreak. 

It had been so long since June had seen her brother. What seemed like ages ago, he had left the kingdom in search of a job far from the Queen and her ridiculous rules. While he sent letters for the better part of three years, each one explaining his duties on the farm he had found a job at and venting about the man he worked for, it was not nearly the same as it was when he lived in the kingdom with their family. But, despite the sadness she felt with his absence, she knew that he was happy out there on the farm. That was the singular thought that got her through the terrible ache that came with the empty spot around the dinner table––knowing that he was okay and happy and safe. But, as it turned out, he had not been safe. 

“I’ll do it,” she whispered, still staring at her brother. “Why––How did he die?” 

Pez did not know what to tell her. “We found him like this. He was connected to some sort of machine. He was tortured, perhaps. We can’t be sure.”

June nodded and started to pull jars off of the old, dusty shelves. “Who would want to kill him?” 

“The Queen,” Nora offered. “Your brother and the Prince are in love, it seems. She must have found that irritating since he’s supposed to marry her daughter today. With him out of the way, there would be nothing to stop the wedding.” 

June’s eyes widened. “He found someone?” 

Pez and Nora nodded, unsure of what to say. 

“Good for him,” she smiled, looking down at her brother for a moment before moving to prepare the miracle pill that would, hopefully, bring him back to life. “I always knew he would find someone. Are they good together?” 

“I think they would do anything for each other,” the pixie said, not knowing the truth. If what she had seen in Guilder was proof, then it was true––they would do anything to be together. For the Man in Black had fought valiantly to get reunited with his love. He had taken on the skill of the swordsman, the strength of the pixie, and the cunning brain of Richards. If he could conquer all three of those threats in a single afternoon, love must have been a vicious motivator. 

June smiled weakly and sat down at the table, putting various ingredients in a mortar. Pez sat down across from her. 

“If it makes you feel better,” Pez said, “we’re planning on ruining the wedding.” 

June, mashing the ingredients, looked up at him. “Why would it make me feel better?”

“Because it will be sweet revenge,” Pez grinned, eager to tell someone new about his plan. “Your brother will be reunited with his true love, the Queen will be humiliated, and I will get revenge for my father’s death.”

June sighed and began to mold the mashed concoction into tiny balls. “And what will you do after you accomplish this?” 

Pez and Nora looked at each other for a moment, for they had not yet worked out that part of the plan. Honestly, they only got as far as reviving the Man in Black, assuming that he would have some sort of great scheme to help them win. “Go somewhere else,” Nora said dreamily, imagining their great escape. “Some place where we can all be free and happy.”  
“I’d like to help,” June offered, now coating the balls in some sort of chocolate. “If you’ll let me.” 

“Of course,” Pez grinned, excited to hopefully spend more time with her. “I’d imagine you two would have quite a bit of catching up to do, right, darling?” 

June smiled at him, making his heart feel full. Maybe, if she came with them, things could be truly perfect. “Yes,” she agreed, “I think so.” She placed the ball into a small, velvet pouch and held it up. “This should be dry in fifteen minutes. Make sure you wait the whole fifteen minutes or it won’t work entirely.” 

Pez grabbed the pouch, allowing his fingers to brush against her’s. “Thank you,” he said, standing. “If all goes according to plan, we should be in and out of the castle within a few hours.” 

“I’ll be outside,” she beamed, “with horses.” 

Pez flashed her one more grin before gesturing for the pixie to retrieve the body so they could take him with them to finally get the revenge he had been craving since he was a boy. 

Yes, tonight was going to be a good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i'm @bibliothesoph on tumblr!


	15. Fifteen

It took great discretion and stealth for the three of them to get up to the castle gates, though hidden behind a thick, stone wall. With the gates in sight, Nora set Alex’s limp body upon the ground and turned to Pez for the miracle pill that would hopefully bring the man back to life. But when Nora looked out at the gate, she found a problem that would certainly make this all a lot more difficult. 

“There are more than thirty men,” she whispered, gesturing to the heavily guarded gate.

“It doesn’t matter,” Pez argued with the wave of his hand as he searched for the miracle pill stashed in his pocket. He found it and held it up to the light, studying it to see if the chocolate coat was dry. “The Man in Black will know what to do. Help me prop him up.” 

The pixie sighed and aided her friend in propping the dead man up against the wall. Once he was seated, she opened his mouth while Pez held out the pill. 

“Has it been fifteen minutes?” 

Pez did not know. “I’m sure it’s fine,” he argued. “Plus, we don’t have time to wait––the wedding’s in half an hour.” 

With that, the swordsman popped the pill into Alex’s mouth, pushing it down the man’s throat and praying that it would work. If the pill did not do what they hoped it would, Pez would be officially out of options. 

“How long do we have to wait?” Nora asked. 

But before Pez could even respond, Alex’s eyes were open and glaring at the two of them. “I’ll beat you at your part,” he threatened, “I’ll take you both together!” 

With a gasp, Nora went to cover his mouth. “Not very long, I guess,” she laughed. After a moment, when Alex’s mouth had stopped moving, she removed her hand and sat back on her heels. But Alex was still glaring at the two of them, clearly confused and annoyed to be in their presence once again. 

“Why won’t my arms move?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly. 

“You’ve been mostly dead all day,” Pez supplied, “but don’t worry––you still look fantastic.”

Alex did not look convinced. 

“Your sister––June––made a pill to bring you back,” Nora explained. 

Alex’s eyes widened at the mention of his sister. It had been so long since he had heard her name or seen her. If she had seen him dead, she must have been extremely worried about him. It made a rock of guilt sit in his stomach at the thought of scaring her like that. “My sister? Is she okay?” 

“Yes,” Pez answered. He paused for a moment. “Is she single, by the way?” 

Nora punched his shoulder. “Not the time, Pez. We’ve got a castle to storm.” 

Alex raised an eyebrow at this. “What? What’s going on?” 

Nora and Pez looked at each other for a moment, silently figuring out how to explain what was going on. It was impossible to say what Alex already knew or if he even knew anything at all. It was clear that he had been captured after defeating Richards, which meant that he had been locked away for a few days now. It seemed logical to assume that he had been kidnapped by the Queen or possibly the Count, but both were unlikely to tell him important information. 

“Let me explain,” Pez offered. He shook his head. “No, there’s too much. Uh, let me sum it up. Okay, so, Henry is marrying the Princess in a little less than half an hour. So, all _we_ have to do is get in, break up the wedding, steal the Prince, and make our escape––which your lovely sister promised to help with. Oh, and I have to kill Count Philip.”  
Alex hummed to himself for a moment while he thought about this plan and all of the revolving pieces it would have to entail. Breaking into the castle, especially on the day of such an important event, was not going to be an easy task. There would surely be a plethora of men guarding the gate and even more once they got inside. Then, of course, there was the Queen to deal with. It wasn’t like the three of them were actually invited to the wedding, so it would be difficult to actually get into the hall where the ceremony was being held. It would be even more difficult to get Henry alone since he would most likely head directly from the ceremony to a ship to go on his honeymoon with the Princess. The thought of Henry sailing off and away forever made Alex’s blood boil. 

“That doesn’t leave a lot of time for screwing around,” Alex noted. That meant that whatever plan they had come up with had to be an extremely precise one. He just hoped they knew what they were doing. 

“You just clenched your fist,” Nora pointed out. “That’s good!” 

“I’ve always been a quick healer,” Alex replied. He turned back to Pez. “What are our liabilities?” 

“There’s only one working castle gate.” Pez moved to help Alex look over the wall at the aforementioned gate and the sea of guards stood before it. “It looks like it’s guarded by…”

“I’d say roughly sixty men,” Nora supplied, eyeing them carefully. “That means we each have to take twenty, but you can’t even move. Our chances of making it through are slim, to say the least.” 

Alex did not disagree for he knew it would be impossible for him to defeat even one man in such a state. “Do we have any assets?”

“Your brains, Nora’s strength, and my steel,” Pez offered. 

Alex could not help but scoff. “That’s it? Impossible. We’ll never make it through. If I had, like, a _month_ to plan, maybe I could think of something. But this?” he shook his head.   
“Aw, you just shook your head,” Nora giggled. “Doesn’t that make you happy?” 

With great effort, Alex turned to face her. “My brains, his steel, and your strength against sixty men, and you think that a little head jiggle is supposed to make me _happy_? Really?” He sighed. “I mean, if we had a wheelbarrow, that would be something.” 

Pez’s eyes grew wide at the mention of a wheelbarrow. “Oh, where did we put that wheelbarrow that the albino gentleman had?” 

“Uh, with the albino, I think.” 

Alex rolled his eyes. “Then why didn’t you list that as an asset in the first place?” But, when he thought about it, the wheelbarrow itself would not be enough to pull off the plan that was beginning to form in his mind. “What I wouldn’t give for a fire-proof cloak.” 

Pez shook his head. “Sorry, can’t help with that part.” 

But Nora was already removing something from her satchel. “Will this do? It’s protected by pixie magic––it can withstand anything.” 

Pez stared at his companion, completely dumbfounded.

Alex did not have the time for this. “Okay, great. Help me up.” 

The two did as he asked, helping him up and move across the wall. “I’ll need a sword,” he said. 

“ _Why_?” Pez laughed. “You can’t even lift one.” 

“True, but no one else knows that, right? Now, there may be some problems when we get inside.”

“I’ll say,” Pez agreed, “how do we find the Count? Or, once I do, how do I find you again? Once I find you, how do we escape?”

“Don’t pester him,” Nora snapped, “he’s had a really hard day!” 

“Right,” Pez sighed, “sorry.” 

They went on their way to fetch the wheelbarrow and, hopefully, get the happy endings they all craved. 

Deep within the castle walls, the Prince was being dressed for the ceremony. The Queen assisted him with his clothing and crown, making sure that he looked appropriate for the great celebration. But Henry was not interested in wearing such frivolous clothing or such a ridiculous thing on his head. The only thing he wanted was to be safe in Alex’s arms and somewhere far from the castle. 

“You don’t seem excited, Henry,” the Queen chastised, straightening his crown. 

“Should I be?” he sighed, feeling deflated. David sat at his feet, fast asleep. 

“Grooms often are, I’m told.” 

Henry shrugged. “I do not marry tonight,” he countered, “my Alex will save me.” 

With that, he stormed off to find a quiet corner to read in before he was dragged downstairs for the ceremony. When he was out of the room, the Queen smiled to herself because she knew that Alex would not, in fact, come to save Henry. Alex was dead and, thankfully, no longer his concern. The wedding would be flawless and beautiful, just as she had planned it to be. Then, by the next morning, Henry would be dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i'm @bibliothesoph on tumblr


	16. Sixteen

When the kingdom was covered in darkness, the three unlikely heroes returned to the wall outside of the castle gate with a plan at the ready and hope in their hearts. Even from outside, the sound of the organ from the ceremony within the castle walls could be heard which made them wonder if they would be too late to stop it. But Alex was determined to save his love and bring all of them the happy endings they so desired, even if their odds were close to nothing. Nora had already talked them through the numbers and, needless to say, it would be nearly impossible for all three of them to come out of this alive. It was only defeating the Queen, perhaps, that seemed plausible due to her old age and inability to fight with a blade, but even then, it would be difficult to get her alone. And then there was the fact that none of them had ever been inside the castle itself so the halls and rooms would be a mystery to them. Though Alex didn’t care much about what happened to him, he knew that he had to save Henry. _His_ Henry. The man he loved with his entire being and refused to lose again. 

Inside the castle, in the Grand Hall, Henry and Madeline were on their knees before the priest for the wedding ceremony. Though Madeline was kind and beautiful, Henry did not love her. It was comforting, in a way, to have her by his side instead of her grandmother, though. But still. He would not marry. The music was lost on him as he listened for a sound he was sure to come at any moment––the sound of Alex breaking into the castle and stopping the wedding. It was the one thought that made any of this even slightly tolerable. It was his saving grace. 

After a musical procession, the priest gestured for them to stand. As rehearsed, they stood in unison before him, waiting to hear the beginning of the vows. With each passing moment, Henry grew more and more unsure that Alex was coming for him as he predicted, for the priest started to speak and there had not yet been an interruption. 

“Mawidge,” the priest began. 

Henry raised an eyebrow at the strange voice and pronunciation but held his tongue. 

“Mawidge is what brings us togetha today. Mawidge, that blessed arrangement, that dweam, within in a dweam.”

In the middle of this terrible speech, Henry heard voices shout outside––voices telling someone to stand their ground. His heart sped up in his chest, thumping like a horse’s hooves across the great plains. It had to have been his love––it had to have been Alex with some wicked scheme up his sleeve to save Henry from this terrible life and loveless marriage he was about to be forced into. So he smiled at the voices because he _knew_ that it all meant that true love would come and save the day. 

Outside the castle, Pez was dressed in the fireproof cloak so generously gifted to him by Nora. And, in a cloud of smoke, he emerged through the gates on top of a wheelbarrow pushed by Nora and Alex. At the mere sight of him, the men guarding the gate trembled in fear. 

“Stand your ground,” their superior warned, drawing his sword. 

The men did as they were told, but not without great fear. To them, the man descending upon them was massive and terrifying––dressed in a large, dark cloak with his face completely obscured. It was especially terrifying when the mysterious man began to talk. 

“I am the Dread Pirate Roberts!” Pez shouted in the lowest, scariest voice he could muster. “There will be no survivors!”

The men shouted at the sight and sound of him, quaking. 

Behind the wheelbarrow, Nora was ready with a lit candle. “Now?” she asked, turning her head ever so slightly. 

“Not yet,” Alex hissed from behind her. 

She nodded and continued to push the wheelbarrow forward. 

“My men are here,” Pez announced, “and I am here, but soon _you_ will not be here!”

“ _Now_?” Nora asked again, growing impatient. 

“Light him,” Alex said. 

So Nora pressed the flame of the candle to the cloak which quickly caught fire. Pez would not be harmed, of course, but it would create a great fear in the men guarding the gate. Who else could withstand such flames beside the Dread Pirate Roberts himself? 

“The Dread Pirate Roberts,” Pez shouted again as the flames licked the bottom of the cloak and slowly made their way up his form, “takes no survivors! All of your worst nightmares are about to come true!” 

With strangles cries, the men guarding the gate began to scurry away. 

Within the castle, the ceremony continued as if there had been no disturbance. 

“Then wuv,” the priest continued, “ _true_ wuv, will follow you foreva.”

But Count Philip had heard the disturbance outside, too, and he wanted to do something about it. With a nod from the Queen, he gestured for a guard to follow him away from the ceremony and out of the Grand Hall. Henry watched eagerly as they left, certain that such hubbub could be caused by one man and one man only––Alex. 

Outside, Pez was still going. For him, this was the role of a fucking lifetime. “I am the Dread Pirate Roberts!” he shouted. “And I’m here for your souls!” 

The last of the men shrieked and sprinted away from him, clearly terrified. He couldn’t help but smile to himself for a job well done. Despite the commotion and moving performance, the superior officer––Basil––remained. While his efforts to corral his crew were valiant, they were a complete waste of breath. It was not long before he was stood by himself in front of the gate, too afraid of disappointing the Queen to leave his post, despite his fear. But, ever brave, he held out his sword and attempted to face whatever was to come. 

In the Grand Hall, the priest carried on. Perhaps he was hard of hearing and did not hear the commotion going on outside, or perhaps the Queen ordered him to continue no matter what. “So tweasa your wuv…” he said. 

But the Queen grew impatient. “Skip to the end,” she demanded. 

The priest nodded. “Have you da wing?” 

The Queen forced herself up to the very front where Henry and Madeline stood and forced Henry’s hand up, jamming a ring on his finger. 

But Henry was hopeful––and hope was the most disastrous thing for the Queen right now. “Here comes my Alex now,” he grinned. 

Outside, the three unlikely heroes drew closer and closer to the castle. But the portcullis was falling quickly and, once down, would complicate their entrance. 

“Nora,” Pez called, now supporting Alex’s dead weight upon his shoulder, “the portcullis!” 

So, before the portcullis could fall completely, Nora reached down and, using her great strength, lifts the thing up and moves it back to the top of its rig. Basil, stood on the other side of it, stares at Nora in horror. He, a true idiot, thought he was actually _safe_. 

But inside the castle, the Queen was unhappy with Henry’s optimism. “Your Alex is dead,” she snapped. “I killed him myself.” 

For a moment, Henry’s heart started to break. His knees felt weak and useless with the news, for he knew exactly how it felt to know (or be told, anyway) that his love was dead. So, for a brief moment, Henry felt the indescribable feeling of loss and grief overcome him. But it didn’t last long because the look in the Queen’s eyes gave herself away––that flicker of fear buried deep beneath her aging irises made Henry sure that this wasn’t truly the end. 

“Then why is there fear behind your eyes?” he asked, channeling Alex’s unwarranted bravery and courage. 

The Queen ground her teeth together and looked away from Henry’s gaze, unable to stand his scrutiny. 

Outside the castle gates, Nora dragged Alex’s still-useless body across the threshold. She plopped him down next to Basil where the three of them stared him down for a moment, trying to glare him into submission. However, Basil remained rooted to the spot. Perhaps it was out of fear, but perhaps it was sheer courage and bravery. 

“Give us the fucking gate key,” Alex demanded. 

Basil shook his head. “I have no gate key.” 

Pez nodded at Nora in response. “Nora, tear his arms off.” 

As Nora moved toward him, the man’s eyes widened and he revealed a key from inside his robes. “Oh, you mean _this_ gate key?” 

Nora rolled the eyes and took the key, annoyed that the man thought he could even _think_ of getting out of this so easily. 

Inside the Grand Hall, the priest carried on with his speech. “And do you, Prince Henwy––”

“Man and wife,” the Queen commanded, “say, ‘man and wife!’”

The priest, a simple man who did not take kindly to rocking the boat, did as he was told. “Man and wife,” he proclaimed. 

Henry looked up at him, completely terrified. His blue eyes were blown wide with the realization that, despite everything he had dared to hope for, Alex was too late. Henry was married––a true Prince. He could never be Alex’s again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i'm @bibliothesoph on tumblr!


	17. Seventeen

The Queen was quick to move things along and to get Henry as far away from all of this as possible. As soon as Henry and Madeline were pronounced man and wife, the Queen was already shoving Henry into her arms.

“Get him upstairs,” she demanded of her daughter, “I’ll be there shortly.” 

Madeline nodded, helpless to argue with her mother. Instead, she grabbed Henry’s arm and did as she was told.

“He didn’t come,” Henry admitted, more to himself than to Madeline as they walked down the aisle. And, with saying those words out loud, he realized that it was completely true. Alex had not come for him. He would never come for him. 

Upstairs, Count Philip and a handful of men raced through the castle in hopes of finding the intruders who, unbeknownst to them, were looking for them in return. Down a different corridor, Pez emerged and scanned the area before him for any sign of either Count Philip or Henry but found nothing but a deserted hallway. Nora followed close behind him, half-dragging Alex’s still mostly limp body along with her. They turned down another corridor and walked four steps before, from the other end, Philip and his man came running, almost as if to meet them in the middle. 

Philip halted at the sight of Pez, for he recognized the man. Where he knew him from he could not say, but he had a feeling that their first meeting had not been a pleasant one for the young man holding a sword. “Kill the dark one and the pixie,” he told his men, gesturing to the Man in Black and the pixie, “but leave the third for questioning.”  
His men ran forward to do his bidding, but Pez was angry and good with a sword. Without much effort, he slaughtered them all where they stood. There was nothing between Pez and the man he had fantasized about killing for years––nothing but the tension-riddled air between them. 

With a steely gaze, he recalled the words he had vowed to say at this very moment. “Hello,” he began, voice loud and low, “my name is Percy Okonjo. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” 

Count Philip stared at him for a moment, watching carefully as the swordsman took a fighting stance with his sword extended, clearly ready for a duel. So, Philip did what he always did in the face of danger––he ran. Pez chased after him, though, not allowing him to get away so easily. But, by the time Pez caught up with him, the Count had already turned into a room and locked the thick door behind him. Pez growled and threw his body against the door, but it would not budge. 

“Nora!” he called, praying that his voice could be heard through the winding corridors. “I need you!” 

It _was_ heard through the castle. Nora heard it but shook her head, still helping Alex move. “I can’t leave him alone,” she called back. 

“He’s getting away from me, Nora! Please!” 

So Nora, a true friend, set Alex up against a set of standing armor, hoping that he was in control of himself enough to keep his body upright. “I’ll be right back,” she promised Alex. Certain that he would be okay at least for a moment, Nora jogged down the corridor to assist her friend with the door. With one punch, she knocked the entire thing off its hinges, watching as Pez grinned and charged into the room to confront his fate.

Down another corridor on the very same floor, Madeline escorted her new husband to his chambers. “Strange wedding,” she noted, hoping to pull Henry from his thoughts.  
Though they were not close, and certainly not in love, she cared for him. She knew firsthand how suffocating the castle and this life could be, and she saw how it pulled Henry’s heart and spirit apart piece by piece. Though they did not love each other, she hoped they could be friends. She needed more friends in her life––she had never truly had one before. 

Her words pulled Henry out of his dark thoughts and back to the present moment. He stopped walking and turned to her, placing a delicate kiss on her cheek. 

She smiled at him sheepishly. “What was that for?” she inquired. 

“Because you’ve always been so kind to me,” Henry admitted, “and I––I won’t be seeing you again.”

The Princess raised an eyebrow at his words. “Why?” 

Henry looked down nervously, fiddling with a loose stone on the ground with the tip of his shoe. “Never you mind,” he sighed, “just…thank you.” 

Madeline smiled at him and waited for him to straighten his posture and continue walking down the corridor. 

Meanwhile, in a different corridor, Alex was gone. Nora was sure that she was looking in the right place and that he had been there only moments ago, but he was there no longer.

Through the bottom floors of the castle, Pez pursued the Count. Though Count Philip had quite the head start, Pez was quickly catching up to him as they zipped through winding halls and down staircases. Pez was more determined than ever to get his revenge––it was so close that he could practically taste it. So he followed the Count, eager to see this plan through. But the Count used his advantage to pause for a moment and remove a dagger from a hidden pocket in his boot before running into the hall where the wedding feast was supposed to have taken place, waiting for the swordsman to come through the door so he could put the dagger to good use. 

As soon as Pez appeared, Philip threw the dagger through the air, landing the blade in Pez’s stomach. The swordsman froze as his hands came around the hilt of the dagger, unsure if he should pull it out. He staggered backward and hit a wall, using it to keep himself upright as he groaned in pain. 

“Sorry, Father,” he cried, feeling that this might be the end of his long journey for revenge. “I tried.” The pain of the knife through his stomach was more tolerable than the pain that came with the guilt for failing his father––that came with the realization that he had wasted his entire life only to fail at the one thing he had vowed to do. 

Count Philip moved towards him, studying the man to see if he could place him. All at once, it came back to him. The swordsman looked different now, yes, but he recalled where they had met before. “You must be that little brat I taught a lesson to all those years ago,” Philip realized. “Simply incredible. Have you been chasing me your whole life, only to fail now?” He could not help but laugh. “I think that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. How _marvelous_.

With a cry of pain, Pez fell to the floor. 

Henry had finally arrived to his chambers and closed the door gently behind him as he stepped into the space. David was eager to see him and licked his hand as Henry bent down to scratch his ears for the last time, closing his eyes to better appreciate the softness of the fur there. But Henry only allowed himself a minute to linger with David before he stood and made his way to the desk where he pulled out a large, wooden box. He sat down at the ornate chair and opened the lid of the box to reveal a beautiful, silver dagger––one given to him for his engagement. He expected to feel some sort of fear as he raised the dagger and pointed it against the flesh of his chest, but he felt only eagerness. For what life could he truly live here without Alex? What kind of life could he live without love in his life? It would be a dreary existence indeed and, as he saw it, it was incredibly likely that Alex did not come to save him because Alex was dead. And, if Alex was dead, there was nothing left for Henry in this terrible, terrible world.

So he closed his eyes as he braced himself for the feeling of the dagger slicing through his shirt and skin.

“There’s such a shortage of perfect chests in the world,” a voice said from behind him. He gasped and turned to find the owner of the voice. “It would be a pity to damage yours.”  
He could not muffle the cry of happiness that escaped his lips when he found Alex lying on his bed. With tears in his eyes, he set the dagger down and jumped to his feet,  
rushing to Alex’s side. “Alex!” he sobbed, crossing the terrible rug in the room, “Alex, darling!” 

He jumped onto the bed and, straddling Alex, leaned down to kiss him. 

The kiss felt like coming home––like coming to shore after months at sea. Alex kissed him back, though not as eagerly as Henry would have liked, but it didn’t matter because Alex was _here_ and _alive_. 

“Alex,” Henry breathed between kisses, already starting to grind down on his love, “why won’t you hold me?” 

He started to leave a trail of kisses and bites down Alex’s neck, just as he had been longing to do for so long. 

“Gently,” Alex begged. 

Henry could not help but laugh. “At a time like this? That’s all you can think to say?” He sat back on his heels a bit and lifted Alex’s head to meet his own in another kiss, upset when Alex did not kiss him back completely. 

“Gently,” Alex said again. His head fell back and smacked against the headboard. 

Henry paused and stared at him, terrified that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i'm @bibliothesoph on tumblr. sorry for this trash


	18. Eighteen

Downstairs, Pez took sharp, jagged breaths as he attempted to figure out what to do about the blade in his gut. He did not know if it would be better or worse to pull the blade out or to let it remain there––would removing it cause him to bleed out? Though he had, of course, endured many injuries over the years, none of those injuries had been as serious as this one. The answer became clear to him when the Count smiled at his pale face, clearly too pleased at the possibility of seeing the breath leave Pez’s body. So, with great difficulty, Pez removed the blade from himself, dropping it to the floor. To stop the bleeding, he shoved one hand over the deep wound and, shakily, got to his feet. 

“Good heavens,” Philip chuckled, “are you still trying to win?” 

Determined, Pez attempted to take a step forward. The pain that erupted through his body with the movement was so blinding that it caused him to stagger back and against the wall once more. 

“You’ve got an overdeveloped sense of vengeance,” Philip remarked. “It’s going to get you into trouble someday.” He unsheathed his sword, holding it out as if to fight. But Pez did not stand a chance against him in this moment, for, when Philip struck him, Pez did not even flinch. The tip of his blade pierced Pez’s shoulder, cutting through his skin. Philip struck him again on the opposite side, frowning when Pez did not even attempt to block the advance. Instead, Pez had a vacant look in his eyes that made Philip believe that the young swordsman might be, finally, just giving up. So he struck again, assuming that he would not be blocked, but found himself surprised when Pez raised his blade to counter the newest attack. 

It was not in the swordsman’s nature to give up so easily, even in the face of such an obstacle. Though his body ached and screamed with the movement, he pushed himself off of the wall and stepped forward once more, eager to prove himself a worthy son to his late father. There was no time for pain now––only revenge. 

“Hello,” he said. “My name is Percy Okonjo. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” 

Even with the feeling of sweet revenge flowing through his veins, his body was quick to give out on him, launching him onto the nearby table as it yearned to rest and heal from his injuries. But the swordsman did not give into such demands and, instead, continued forward. And, when Philip attempted to strike him once more, Pez blocked the blade with his own. The Count attacked three times, quickly and without much time between them, but Pez blocked each one almost as if it were second nature to him. 

“Hello,” he repeated. “My name is Percy Okonjo. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” 

Though the words fueled the swordsman, they only aggravated the Count. 

With gritted teeth, he attacked again. 

It was blocked almost giddily. The energy from Pez’s words gave him enough strength to block the attack so violently and passionately that the strength of it sent Philip backward and onto another table where he quickly stumbled to recover himself. 

“Hello!” Pez shouted. “My name is Percy Okonjo. You killed my father. Prepare to die!”

Philip growled at the words. “Stop saying that!” 

But Pez just smiled, now also fueled by the Count’s obvious annoyance. It was, in fact, the swordsman that landed a blow next, stabbing the Count in his shoulder just as the Count had done to him only moments ago. And then, a moment and a dodge later, he struck the other shoulder, too. 

“Hello!” Pez shouted again, advancing. “My name is Percy Okonjo! You killed my father! Prepare to die!” 

Through these words, he pushed the Count against a table, his back to the wall. Helpless. 

“No!” the Count cried. 

Pez swiped the Count’s cheek with his blade, leaving a scar there. It was identical to one of the ones on his own cheeks––ones that the Count had left on him all those years ago. “Offer me money.” 

“Yes.” 

“Power, too,” Pez grinned, “promise me that.” 

The Count, terrified, nodded but said nothing. 

Pez swiped his other cheek.

“All that I have and more,” the Count conceded. “ _Please_.”

“Offer me everything that I ask for,” Pez grinned. 

“Anything you want.” 

Foolishly, the Count attempted to strike Pez. Pez was quick to avoid the blade and, instead, stabbed the Count in the stomach. It was not a particularly fatal slash, but it was enough to send the Count to his knees in pain. Pez held his sword above the man, ready to deliver one, fatal blow. His heart thrummed in his ears. His pulse radiated through his body. The only sound he could hear was the beating of his own heart as it took in the scene before him––the man he had vowed to kill, brought to his knees. Helpless. Hopeless.   
But Pez did not land the fatal blow. He sheathed his sword and left the Count there, for when he looked into the man’s eyes, he saw himself––a young, terrified boy afraid of death. And, though he had spent his entire young adult life pursuing only knowledge that would help him, one day, kill the Count in this very moment, he could not bring himself to do it. His father died because he was true and good and had self-worth that he dared not to let any man take away from him. He died so Pez could live on and become a great man one day. So, if he were to kill the Count, he would go to a dark place that he did not want to go to––not for this shell of a man before him. The Count was not worth it in any sense––not worth another drop of blood upon the blade his father had worked so hard to create, and not worth any of Pez’s newfound energy. 

So he left the Count bleeding out on the floor, allowing the fates to decide where is luck would land him.

Upstairs, in a luxurious suite, Henry was still on top of his love, stroking his chest with such gentleness that Alex thought the touch might make him fall apart completely. 

“Alex,” Henry whispered, his lips only a breath away from his love’s, “will you ever forgive me?” 

“What hideous sin have you committed lately?” Alex wondered, that mischievous glint returning to his eyes. 

Henry took a breath and stared into Alex’s familiar brown eyes, wondering if it would be the last time he was able to see them like this. “I got married,” he admitted, the words stinging in his throat like bile as he said them. “I didn’t want to. It all…it happened so _fast _.”__

__But Alex was already shaking his head, those wonderful curls bouncing ever so slightly with the movement. “Never happened.”_ _

__Henry raised a brow. “What?”_ _

__“It never happened,” Alex said, sounding quite sure of himself._ _

__“But it did,” Henry protested, not sure why Alex was not taking this seriously. “It _did_. I was there! This old man said, ‘man and wife.’”_ _

__Alex remained unmoved. “Did you say, ‘I do?’”_ _

__Henry thought about it for a moment, about the strange, awful ceremony. “Erm…no? We sort of…skipped that bit.”_ _

__“Then you’re not married,” Alex said, as if it were the simplest truth in the fucking world. “If you didn’t say it,” he continued, noticing Henry’s conflicted gaze, “you didn’t do it.”  
Henry smiled at him, unsure of what else to say. _ _

__“Wouldn’t you agree, Your Highness?” Alex asked._ _

__Henry, confused, raised an eyebrow and followed Alex’s eyes. Standing in the doorway was the Queen herself with a scowl so impressive that Henry thought it might turn him to stone._ _

__“A technicality that will soon be remedied, I assure you,” the Queen sighed. “But first things first.” She removed a dagger from within her robes and approached the bed. “To the death.”_ _

__“No,” Alex insisted. “To the pain.”_ _

__This made the Queen halt for a moment. It was a phrase she had never heard before. “I don’t think I’m quite familiar with that phrase,” she admitted._ _

__“I’m happy to explain,” Alex replied. “And I’ll use small words so that you’ll be able to understand what I’m saying, you warthog faced buffoon.”_ _

__The Queen was appalled. “That might be,” she said, “the first time someone has dared insult me.”_ _

__“It won’t be the last,” Alex grinned. He took a breath. “‘To the pain’ means that the first thing you lose will be your feet. Below the ankles, obviously. Then your hands at the wrists. Next, your nose.”_ _

__“Then my tongue, I suppose,” she sighed, quite done with all these games. “I killed you too quickly the last time, a mistake I do not mean to duplicate tonight.”_ _

__To Alex’s side, Henry gasped. “The _last_ time?” he asked, staring at Alex. _ _

__Alex put a sturdy hand on Henry’s thigh. “Later,” he promised. He turned back to the Queen who had once again started to approach him. “I wasn’t fucking finished,” he told her. “The next thing you lose will be your left eye, followed by your right!”_ _

__“And then my ears,” she growled, “I understand. Let’s get on with it!”_ _

__“Wrong,” Alex corrected. “Your ears you keep, and I’ll tell you why. It’s so that every shriek of every child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish,” Alex explained. “Every babe that weeps at your approach, every woman who cries out ‘dear, God, what is that _thing_ , will echo in your perfect ears. _That_ is what ‘to the pain’ means. It means I leave you in anguish, wallowing in freakish misery forever.” _ _

__Henry stared at Alex with wide eyes, having never heard him speak in such a way. It was clear to him before, though completely obvious now, that the years they had spent apart had changed Alex. He was darker now, Henry thought. But braver, too. Though Henry did not completely recognize the man before him, he still loved him and was excited to hear about the man he had become over the years. The thought, to him, was thrilling._ _

__“I think you’re bluffing,” the Queen accused._ _

__“It’s possible, pig,” Alex agreed. “I _could_ be bluffing. It’s conceivable, you miserable, vomitous mass, that I’m only lying here because I don’t have the strength to stand. Then again, perhaps I have the strength after all.” _ _

__Henry watched as Alex started to rise from the bed. He managed to get on his feet and hold out his sword, looking more formidable than ever. “Drop your sword,” he commanded._ _

__The Queen was in shock at the sight of it and was quick to comply, knowing that she could not beat him in hand to hand combat._ _

__“Have a seat,” Alex offered, that shit-eating grin back on his face._ _

__The Queen was quick to follow that order, too, taking a seat in one of the ornate chairs by the fireplace._ _

__“Tie her up,” he told Henry._ _

__Henry leaped into action, grabbing rope from one of the drawers, and getting to work._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i'm @bibliothesoph on tumblr!


	19. Nineteen

Pez rushed down the semi-familiar corridors, hoping to stumble across either Nora or Alex. When he heard Alex’s voice, he followed it like a beacon and found himself in an ornately decorated room in the company of not only Alex, but the Prince and the Queen, too. For a moment, he found himself reaching for his sword, but Henry was already tying her to a chair.

“Where’s Nora?” he asked. 

“I thought she was with you,” Alex shrugged. 

Pez shook his head, growing anxious about her whereabouts. “No.” 

“In that case,” Alex sighed, attempting to walk forward but instantly falling down, catching himself on the hilt of his sword. 

“Help him,” Pez said, gesturing to Alex. 

“Why does Alex need helping?” Henry asked, rushing to his love’s side to help him stand. 

“Because he has no strength,” Pez admitted.

“I knew it,” the Queen cackled. “I knew you were bluffing. I knew he was bluffing.” 

Pez put his blade in her face to silence her. “Should I dispatch her for you?” he asked.

“Thanks, but no,” Alex said. “Whatever happens to us, I want her to live a long life, alone with her cowardice.” 

From outside, someone called Pez’s name. 

“Pez? Pez, where are you?” 

He headed over to the window to see who was calling for him. Alex and Henry followed him over, also eager to see what was going on. They pushed the window and smiled at the sight below. 

It was Nora and June with horses in hand, smiling and looking like knights in shining armor, ready with an escape for them. 

“There you are,” Nora beamed. “We saw the Queen’s stables and found four white horses!”

“We’ll have to share,” June added, “but they’re strong.” 

Henry was the first to jump out of the window and he was easily caught in Nora’s strong, capable arms. Nora lowered him to the ground. 

“You must be Henry,” June said, extending a hand. 

Henry took it. “I must be. And you are?” 

“Alex’s sister,” she said. “I think we’ve got a lot to talk about, Your Highness.” 

“Oh, he’s not a prince,” Alex reminded them from the window, “he’s just got the crown.” 

Henry rolled his eyes but said nothing. 

Upstairs, Alex gestured for Pez to jump out next. 

“You know,” Pez said, leaning against the window frame, “it’s strange. I’ve been in the revenge business for so long, but now that it’s over, I don’t know what to do with the rest of my life.” 

Alex smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. “Have you ever considered piracy?” he asked. “You’d make a wonderful Dread Pirate Roberts.” Leaving him with that parting though, Alex leaned out of the window to be caught in Nora’s arms. 

As soon as he was set on the ground, June’s arms were around him. He hugged her back, so happy to see her.

“I’ve missed you,” he told her, on the brink of tears. 

“I’ve missed you, too,” she laughed, pulling back to wipe tears from her eyes. “The last time I saw you, you were dead.” 

Alex winced. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Thanks for bringing me back to life.” 

“I would also like to thank you,” Henry chimed in, taking one of Alex’s hands in his own. “I don’t know that I could live without him.” 

“You guys are cute,” June giggled, messing up Alex’s curls. “I’m just glad this all worked out.” 

Alex leaned over and kissed Henry’s cheek, unable to stop smiling. “Yeah,” he agreed, “me, too.” 

Alex and Henry shared a horse with Henry controlling it. It reminded him of the days on the farm––just the two of them with Alex’s hands around his waist. But now it was not just the two of them––there were five of them riding off into the sunset together. Though this was not how Henry had imagined life to go, he found that he could not have been happier with how things turned out. He had Alex’s steady heartbeat against his back, good company around him, and the entire world set in front of them. There were traumas to unpack and things to discuss, but he and Alex were safe and together and that was all that truly mattered to him in this moment. 

And, as dawn arose, Alex and Henry knew they were safe. A wave of love swept over them, and as they reached for each other, they knew that nothing could tear them apart. Since the invention of the kiss––since those two first loves first found their way to each other––there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This kiss left them all behind. It was coming home after years of being torn apart and sent spinning and bleeding in opposite directions. It was the first sip of water after days in a desert. It was, in essence, the truest love the world had ever known. 

They, two longing loves, reunited at last.

***

Henry was raised on a small farm in Florin, tucked away from the rest of the world with no one but his family to keep him company for a good portion of his life. When his father died before Henry had reached eighteen summers, his family quickly disappeared––his mother traveled North and his sister West in search of new and better lives. Henry refused to leave the farm for he felt it was his life’s mission to stay and look after his father’s land. Once his family had left him, he hired a boy from a nearby village to assist him in the extensive upkeep and chores he had to complete to maintain the land. 

The boy, about his age, was brave and loved Henry with every part of his soul. He had been through hell and back many times over and remained the kind, loving, fiery man that Henry had first met all those summers ago. He had regained his strength in full and found himself living on a farm once more, not as a farmboy, but as one of the owners. There were six of them in total, once word reached Henry’s sister, and the farm was full of love and life. Alex took to cooking magnificent things in their small kitchen while the girls tended to the animals and made instruments for them to play by the fire. Henry spent most of his days outside, under the shadow of a strong tree, writing his story down on long, parchment scrolls. 

Pez soon left them with the promise to return one day when he had his fill of piracy. He wrote often about his adventures and, on occasion, sent them beautiful objects he had acquired from around the world. 

Bea left to study music in its entirety after a while, too, but always sent them songs for Henry to play on the piano the girls had crafted one summer. 

Nora and June left after Bea in search of life somewhere near her family so she could introduce June to the pixies. They sent pixie items every so often––a scarf, a hat, a wand. 

They found a child on their land one day, seemingly abandoned, and raised her as their own. The rest of their group returned on occasion to spend time with her and her fathers. But she was soon grown and wanted to explore the world herself, so they packed her a bag and begged her to come visit them when she could.

They had two grandchildren––two young boys. They got to see them grow into fine men with good hearts and a stubborn nature that Henry found all too familiar. One of them took over for the Dread Pirate Roberts to keep it in the family. 

One cold, winter’s night many years later, the two lovers found themselves freezing in the bed they always shared together and had since the moment they arrived at this land. The window, it seemed, had blown open in the relentless winds that night. Henry’s blue eyes found Alex’s in the low light and he ran his fingers through Alex’s grey curls, planting a kiss there. 

“Could you close the window, my love?” 

Alex kissed him soundly before getting up. “As you wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end!!!  
> i hope you liked it!!!!  
> i'm sad this is over but I've also got so many ideas for new fics, so i'm hoping to get right back into writing more stuff!  
> i love you all <3


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